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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941805">Miami Medium</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/letbygones/pseuds/letbygones'>letbygones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Promare (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Car Sex, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Lio Fotia's Emotional Dysregulation, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, References to Drugs, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Loop, Whump, liminal spaces</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:27:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/letbygones/pseuds/letbygones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gueira's only been in town for three months, but it's better than being lonely. He's got a couch to sleep on, a buddy to sleep with, and a <i>haunted workplace</i> to keep him awake at night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia/Gueira/Meis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You gotta pay for that," Gueira mutters flatly, without looking up from this month's copy of Golf Digest. </p><p>He's got his ass balanced on a stack of milk crates (since management won't give him a chair or nothin'), and with the way he's slouched behind the register, he doubts the shoplifter even noticed him in the first place. </p><p>It's one am, after all. People get sloppy after midnight.</p><p>When the thief doesn't acknowledge him, Gueira rattles out a sigh. "Hey! You hear me? I said you gotta pay for that. Don't be a douche," he says, rolling up his magazine like he's gonna swat a fly. <em>Thing is</em>, his lunch break starts in twenty minutes. <em>Thing is</em>, he's supposed to file an incident report for theft, but fuck him if he's gonna call the cops over a pack of Skittles.</p><p>This time, the poor kid freezes where he stands— goes so owl-eyed, Gueira sees the overhead lights reflect off his tears. Maybe he's cryin' cuz he got caught, or maybe he's high as balls. He's water-logged and reeks of gasoline, and his dirty leather jacket looks four times too big for his body. Gueira feels a pang of concern when he notices the muddy hair and the bloody fingernails, so he drops the magazine and rises to his feet.</p><p>"Hey, you okay? You look like shit," he says, but like, empathetically.</p><p>The guy doesn't blink.</p><p>"I mean. <em>You</em> look fine, but you look like shit. Overall. You know?" Gueira backtracks, throwing his hands up in peace. "Like, you got some blood there—"</p><p>"I'm fine," he answers, in a surprisingly deep voice. He's eerily calm, despite the fear in his eyes. </p><p>"Ooookay, well. You need a bandaid or some water or somethin', just ask."</p><p>"I'm fine," he repeats, tucking greasy blond hair behind his ears. He's got a piercing; a single black stud that catches on a tangle, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.</p><p>Gueira feels weird. Sure, the graveyard shift brings in plenty of characters: the dancers and drunks, the off-duty nurses, the students and addicts and insomniacs. He's been held up at gunpoint twice this month alone. It's a dangerous gig, but he's a dangerous guy, and he loves it as much as he hates it. Hell, he's finally memorized the faces of his regulars— and he doesn't judge a god damn soul for being a regular at 7-Eleven.</p><p>This guy, though, he's positive he's never seen before— <em>but it feels like he has.</em> He's familiar, in a way that makes Gueira's hair stand up on his forearms.</p><p>Maybe he's tripping. Maybe there's a gas leak.</p><p>"Alright, well. You get home safe, yeah? Forget about the Skittles, I'll cover you. Just don't let me catch you jackin' my shit again, deal?"</p><p>He nods, and gives a tiny, grateful smile. "Sure."</p><p>"Cool. You need a ride? You know where you're goin'?"</p><p>"Save the concern. I'll be okay."</p><p>He turns to leave, but not before digging in his pockets, pulling out a few dimes, and dropping them on the counter by the register. They're just as muddy as he is, but they're probably all he has.</p><p>Five minutes into Gueira's lunch break— well after the thief disappeared into the night— he realizes the door sensor never chimed when he'd left.</p><p>He finds the packet of Skittles on the floor, right in the center of the candy aisle. There's no mud on the counter, no dimes to repay him, and no reassurance that Gueira wasn't losing his fucking marbles.</p><p>***</p><p>"Heard you met 'im," Meis says when he clocks on. He's already faded, and his tongue's stained bright blue. He sets his slurpee down on the counter and props his skinny butt up against the glass.</p><p>"Met who?"</p><p>"Boss," he smirks. "Surprised you haven't seen him sooner."</p><p>"Man, <em>what</em> are you talking about?"</p><p>"That note you left last week? 'Bout the ghost?"</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"That's Boss."</p><p>"That ain't our boss," Guiera grunts, slicing open a crate of beer with his car keys. "That was a <em>demon</em>."</p><p>"Nah," Meis shrugs. "I mean, maybe? But he's cool. Usually keeps to himself."</p><p>"Usually," Gueira snorts, popping open a cooler door. He racks a line of individual bottles and shoots Meis a doubtful look. "What happens when he doesn't?"</p><p>Across the room, Meis flashes a devilish grin. "Stick around and find out. He's fun when he's pissy."</p><p>Gueira shakes his head. "Hell no, dude. I'm not spending my shifts playing Bloody Mary with a dead twink. I'm transferring stores—"</p><p>"No you're not," Meis chuckles, scratching his nose. He hops off the counter and strides over to Gueira, who tries not to smile when he playfully tugs at his belt loops. "Who's gonna smoke you out if you do?"</p><p>"I found you, didn't I? I'll find another hookup, easy-peasy."</p><p>"Mmm, but you'll miss me," Meis hums, kissing Gueira's neck. His long, sweaty hair brushes up against his jugular, and Gueira sighs at the contact.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, maybe I will," he smirks, backing himself up against the cooler door. He tilts Meis' chin back up with cold hands, sternly squishing his cheeks between his palms. "Think you're worth staying for?"</p><p>The door sensor chimes, interrupting them. Meis reluctantly wriggles out of Gueira's grasp and returns to the register, where a very real, very fleshy customer awaits.</p><p>Fuck him if he wasn't fond of the guy already. Gueira's only been in town for three months, but it's better than being lonely. He's got a couch to sleep on, a buddy to sleep with, and a <em>haunted workplace</em> to keep him awake at night. He'll take a ghost and a steady paycheck over living out of his car <em>any day</em>.</p><p>"Yo, Miami," Meis calls out from the front, mid-transaction. The customer visibly recoils; Meis' breath still smells like an ashtray and a doobie had a baby. "When you're done stocking the beer, can you change out the window clings? Corporate sent new ones, they're in the back."</p><p>Gueira gives a thumbs-up with his entire arm. "I better not run into any paranormal shit in the storeroom. You know demons like sneaking up on people when they're alone in the dark."</p><p>"Now don't go slanderin' my name like that, <em>honey pie</em>."</p><p>The customer shifts on his feet, politely thanking Meis when he's handed his change. Gueira snorts, watching the poor sap duck out the door. His face is bright red, like the bike he rode in on.</p><p>The two of them break into snickers. Even though Meis is stringy and sharp, he looks real damn radiant when he smiles with his teeth. Sometimes Gueira feels like the luckiest guy in Promepolis County—</p><p>He stops laughing when a bottle of Heineken flies off the rack, shattering into hundreds of tiny glass shards.</p><p>***</p><p>The rest of the month goes by without incident. The store gets busy around 5am, when the sun's about to rise and fresh coffee needs to be made. He usually digs the grumpy morning people who refuse to talk to him; they make the final stretch of his shifts all the more bearable, but lately, he's been on edge. He finds himself craving company during the quiet hours (spent restocking shelves and cleaning taquito rollers)— he even starts jumping when the A/C kicks on, or when flies thunk up against the lights.</p><p><em>"You're losin' it, buddy,"</em> he tells his reflection when he takes a piss. <em>"Buck up. You're a big boy now."</em></p><p>Luckily, he makes it to September with his sanity intact. The last of the summer heat dies off in a single weekend, which he spends with Meis drinking ciders on the hood of his Camry. When he finally starts to feel safe and bored again, he begins to wonder if his coworkers were fucking with him. Maybe "Boss" was just an oddball customer after all. Maybe Gueira'd been tired, and hallucinated the whole thing. </p><p>Maybe—</p><p><em>"Fuck,"</em> Gueira curses, when he passes the counter and sees the pile of dimes again. It's 1:14am and he's totally alone.</p><p>The coins are just as dirty as they'd been before, and upon closer inspection, he realizes there ain't a single one minted after 1985. He'd chalk it up to coincidence, if there wasn't a ghastly stench of gasoline hanging out behind the register.</p><p>"Look, man, I'm not taking your money," Gueira announces, straightening up. "I appreciate it n' all, but <em>one,</em> I don't trust no dead guys, and <em>two,</em> I told you those Skittles were on the house."</p><p>He doesn't get an answer. He's speaking to an empty store.</p><p>"C'mon, don't make me talk to myself, I look real dumb," he whines. "Like, if you're gonna hang out, hang <em>out</em>. Don't be a creep."</p><p>Again, nothing happens. He puffs out a breath he'd been holding and pushes away from the counter. </p><p>He makes it three steps down the nearest aisle before he's hit in the head with a bag of chips.</p><p>"Alright, that's foul play!" Gueira shouts, spinning on his heels toward the register— the direction the bag had flown from. "I was a goddamn angel to you last time, and this is the thanks I get?"</p><p>"Don't call me a creep," a voice hums behind him, right up against his ear.</p><p>Gueira growls, frantically twisting around— only to be greeted with the sight of the same dirty blond kid. To his horror, he's covered in gashes and welts now, but behind all the fresh blood and scabbing, he's smiling the prettiest damn smile he's ever seen.</p><p>"Jesus fucking <em>christ,</em>" Gueira gasps, backing up on reflex. "What the hell happened to you?"</p><p>The ghost raises an eyebrow. "Tact isn't your strong suit, is it."</p><p>"Oh, <em>forgive me,</em> where are my manners? Let me try that again," Gueira says, wildly flapping his arms. "What's wrong with your face?"</p><p>He's instantly backhanded in the groin.</p><p>"Okay,<em> yup, I deserved that,</em>" Gueira groans out from the floor, where he's dropped low in pain. "M'bad. I just— <em>phewwww, </em>god<em>,</em> you hit hard."</p><p>"I do," the fucker smiles, ripping open another bag of Skittles. "Be grateful you can see me."</p><p>"Oh, I'm real grateful," Gueira hisses through the throb in his balls. "Thank you, your ghostliness."</p><p>"Lio," he corrects, dumping candy into his palm.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"My name. It's Lio."</p><p>Gueira takes a moment to collect himself. He breathes so hard his nostrils flare, and he stares at the biker boots mere inches from his face. They're moldy, but expensive-looking. "Thought they called you 'Boss'," he says, sitting up with a whole lot of effort. "You a boss of somethin'?"</p><p>Lio gracefully chews with his mouth closed, gesturing at the walls. "Used to be." In the silence that follows, he tips the bag back, sticking his cute, horrid jaw out to catch the Skittles on his tongue. He offers a free hand to Gueira, who hesitates before taking it. Surprisingly, it's warm and solid, and he's pulled back up with a startling amount of strength. "Still am, sometimes."</p><p>"Sometimes? Sometimes a boss?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Cryptic much?" Gueira laughs nervously, dusting his pants off with sweaty palms.</p><p>"I don't know how to explain it," Lio shrugs, turning his back to Gueira. He paces over to the coolers, eyes his options, and reaches for a single can of Whiteclaw. "This any good?"</p><p>The rational part of Gueira's brain finally overheats. He watches Lio's bloodsoaked hands turn the can on its side— watches Lio's pretty eyes scan the label—</p><p>"I'm gonna need to see some ID," he tells him, and Lio's laugh is otherworldly.</p><p>"I'm old enough."</p><p>"<em>Nuh-uh,</em> we ain't playin' that game. All them dead years don't count. How old <em>were</em> you?"</p><p>Lio pops the can open, looks him dead in the eye, and says "Twenty-four."</p><p>At first, Gueira wants to say <em>I don't believe you</em>. With the way Lio's leaning back against the fridge door, all haughty with his ankles crossed and stuff, he wants to call his bluff—</p><p>But his heart fuckin' aches when he thinks about it. He looks at all that gunk and carnage, and he doesn't know what to feel.</p><p>"...You tellin' the truth?"</p><p>Lio simply raises a brow and takes a long, silent sip. When he pulls the can away, he glances at it approvingly, sets it on the floor, and says "I'll pay you back tomorrow".</p><p>Gueira blinks, and then he's alone.</p><p>***</p><p>In the photo Meis texts him, three-hundred and ninety-five pennies lay fanned out on the counter. </p><p>Guiera squints at his phone screen, still foggy with sleep. The afternoon sun casts bronze, heavy shadows across the bedroom he shares with his coworker, and for a second, he forgets where he is.</p><p>When a gory face and a charming smile flash back into his thoughts, he bolts upright, squeezing his phone with both hands. It buzzes again, loading up a video this time: the same can of Whiteclaw, open and bloody, with a single blazing match tucked under the pop tab.</p><p>Meis chuckles as he speaks to the camera:</p><p>"Forgot to mention. He likes to be <em>showy.</em>"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry I keep writing about the retail/service industry lmao. This was supposed to be a oneshot but then I got Ideas. I miss these three! Might be two chapters, might be more, idk!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Wait, wait. You <em>talked</em> to him?"</p><p>Gueira keeps his eyes shut while Meis plays with his hair. He's got his head in his lap, and they're sprawled out on a messy, unmade mattress. It's a cute setup, if you ignore yesterday's takeout boxes and the cum on their bellies.</p><p>"Yeah? Don't you talk to him too?"</p><p>"Nope. Didn't know he could <em>speak,</em>" Meis says, looking confused. "You sure? What's he sound like?"</p><p>Gueira shrugs. "I dunno, real poised I guess. Deep, smooth. Kind of tired?"</p><p>"'Course he's tired. Ever hear of the restless dead?"</p><p>"Yeah, well, I mean. <em>Responsibly</em> tired. Probably tired of your bullshit! How long's he been following your ass around the store?"</p><p>The tv's on; they're watching a local access cable channel. A man starts hacking at a bunch of tree branches with a machete. Every time he takes a swing, Gueira feels his eyelids twitch, but Meis doesn't look affected at all. With that kinda stuff, he never does.</p><p>"Don't slander the guy," Meis scoffs, shoving Gueira in the shoulder. "Sucker's just trying to cope, and your <em>dick brain's</em> calling him a voyeur."</p><p>"Oh, <em>you're</em> one to talk," Gueira spits, tearing his gaze away from the screen. He rolls sideways off Meis and repositions himself, poking at his friend's naked knees while he speaks. "Your <em>dick brain</em> stuck its tongue down my throat the day I met you."</p><p>Meis hums deep in his chest. "You asked me to." He leans down over his face, letting sweat-soaked hair pool on his forehead. He gently bites his earlobe, and Gueira makes a super cool, super hot sound in the back of his throat that totally doesn't embarrass himself.</p><p>"Whatever," he grunts, face on fire. "Point being, he's real worn out. Barely younger than me, y'know? Makes me wonder what happened to him."</p><p>Meis goes back to petting his hair, staring at the empty wall above the tv set. "Not sure I wanna know. You seen all that blood?"</p><p>The thought of Lio's face makes his stomach lurch, but he's not sure he'd chalk it up to the gorefest. Gueira pushes the thought aside and vacuums his mouth against Meis' thigh like a suckerfish. It's salty. Kind of sexy. Barely distracting enough— he pops back off, leaving behind a wet, drooly circle.</p><p>"... Saw it once. First time he was kinda normal-looking, to be honest."</p><p>"Huh," Meis says, scrunching his face up. He wipes spit off the corner of Gueira's mouth.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Never seen 'im <em>normal</em>. Only scary as shit. With the injuries, you know?"</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>Things feel awkward, so they get quiet. Gueira stuffs his chin into the mattress and thinks.</p><p>Lio looked dead, sure. Bruises, check. Lesions, check. Dirt and mud and moss? Fuckin' everywhere. Poor dude mighta fallen down a ravine, or been buried alive. The real gnarly part of Gueira's brain wants <em>answers,</em> but the human part— the decent, moral, boring part— thinks maybe, it's not so cool to gawk over. This was someone's <em>life</em> they were talkin' about, and here he was, treatin' him like an episode of Unsolved Mysteries—</p><p>"You should ask him," Meis says, cutting through the silence. "He seems to like you."</p><p>"What? No way. He threw chips at me."</p><p>"Oh, no, not <em>chips,</em>" Meis teases.</p><p>"Shut up," Gueira rolls his eyes. "In any case, I don't think I can just show up and <em>ask</em> that sorta thing. That's sensitive info, y'know?"</p><p>"Depends," Meis mumbles, grappling for a smoke and a lighter off the nightstand. "Sometimes people wanna talk about the things that hurt them. Gotta give them the chance to."</p><p>Gueira stares at the ash that falls from his cigarette, and wonders whether it was serendipity or sheer dumb luck that led him into Meis' bed. Maybe it didn't matter either way.</p><p>***</p><p>The next time Gueira has a solo shift, he comes prepared. He clocks in at 10pm, waits for Thyma to turn out of the parking lot, and promptly locks the front door. He tapes up a sign that says <strong>BE RIGHT BACK</strong>, and bravely, <em>hesitantly</em> shuts off all the lights.</p><p>Of course, nothing happens immediately. He plops himself down in the dark, ignoring the steady thuds from customers trying to force open the door. </p><p>"Read the sign," he mutters to himself, knowing full well the general public doesn't <em>read</em>.</p><p>Instead, he focuses on his next task: grabbing a White Claw from the still-glowing coolers, putting it square on the floor, and arranging a circle of tea lights around the can. He strikes a match, lights the candles, and—</p><p>And.</p><p>...This is stupid.</p><p>Is this supposed to work? He's never held a séance before. He's never even touched a tarot card (though his step-sister had a phase involving palmistry books and novenas). The beauty of his life— the caution thrown to the perpetual wind, the close-calls and fiery leaps of faith— relied on assuming life itself ended with death.</p><p>Like, <em>forever</em> death. The kind of endless peace both he and Meis believe in.</p><p>
  <em>How cruel, to be denied that.</em>
</p><p>"Lio. Boss. Buddy. I know this looks dumb, but hear me out," he says into the darkness. "You're a ghost, right? Ghosts just wanna cross over to the other side, yeah? Get some R&amp;R?" He pops the can open, careful of the fizz. "Well, you know what they say! Ain't no laws when you're drinkin' Claws. Come take a load off, man—"</p><p>The store phone rings, and he near shits his pants.</p><p>"Chill, I'm comin'!" he shouts as he stumbles down the candy aisle. He stretches an arm over the register and blindly plaps around for the receiver. "Yeah, hi, South Promepolis Seven Ele— yeah, no <em>shit</em> we're closed, did you read the sign?"</p><p>The candles flicker.</p><p>"No, I can't give you an ETA— yeah, go ahead pal, <em>write</em> that Yelp review— my name? Sure. Galo Thymos."</p><p>"Who's Galo Thymos?"</p><p>"Some dumbbell in my therapy group," Gueira loudly whispers over his shoulder—</p><p>And then his eyes go wide. He slams the phone down.</p><p>"Damn, you scared me! Why do you always sneak up on people?"</p><p>Lio's voice is bright, even though Gueira can't see him. "You were on the phone. Figured you'd want me to be quiet."</p><p>"Ha-ha," Gueira deadpans, twisting around to face Lio... or, what he thinks is Lio. Right now, he's barely more than a fuzzy silhouette in the darkness. Gueira strains his eyes, but he tries not to stare. "Is this a good time? I was hoping you'd show."</p><p>"Why so eager?" Lio asks. "Looking for entertainment?"</p><p>The door thuds against its frame again, but Gueira ignores it. He scuttles just a little further into the shadows, hiding from the customer peering through the glass. "I'm looking for answers," Gueira admits. "But, I know how it is when someone's breathing down your neck. You don't have to explain nothin' if you don't want to."</p><p>Lio's hazy form moves toward the counter. He props himself up, gives a little jump, and scoots back on his butt, sitting wide-legged and friendly.</p><p>"...Okay. I appreciate your honesty. But do we have to do this in the dark?"</p><p>Gueira shrugs. "In'nit how this works? I always thought you had to summon ghosts with the lights off."</p><p>The chuckle that Lio gives him is warm and homey. </p><p>"You watch too many movies," he says, before blinking open two bright, glowing eyes. They blur at the edges, phased and unfocused like double-exposed film, but they're unmistakably <em>Lio's</em>.</p><p>Gueira breaks out in goosebumps. "Woah. Wicked."</p><p>Lio probably isn't smiling, but it sounds like he is. "So you <em>are</em> entertained," he says, idly swinging his legs. "Not scared, though, right?"</p><p>Gueira shrugs, bumping up against a rack of beef jerky. "Nah. No more jump scares, though. That's low-hanging fruit, pal."</p><p>"Is it?" Lio hums. "Your coworker always keeps his cool."</p><p>
  <em>Of course he does.</em>
</p><p>"No surprise there, he's a real cool guy," Gueira says, like a big, gay dope. "'Sides, he's into that sorta junk. Blood n' guts n' aliens and all that."</p><p>Not to mention the man's tolerance for chaos. Gueira doesn't understand permanence, especially at a haunted convenience store. Poor Meis should own the damn place by now, after workin' it for eight whole years. He's cleaned more soda pumps and ate more breakfast empanadas than any one man should eat. He's dealt with robberies, break-ins and biohazards; he's captured rats, corralled roaches. Meis has told him every nasty story of his on-the-job misery, and Gueira decided the man was unbreakable. Fearless. </p><p>Which is why it's funny that—</p><p>"You don't talk to him," Gueira states, more than asks.</p><p>The violet glow of Lio's eyes blinks out again.</p><p>"I don't," he confirms.</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>Lio hesitates.</p><p>"C'mon, promise I won't tell. We're buddies now, right? I can keep a secret."</p><p>At that, Lio's eyes flare. Just a bit— just a tiny surge of energy.</p><p>"Buddies, huh."</p><p>"More or less," Gueira shrugs. He's acutely aware of the ringing in his ears, until Lio silently slides off the counter, corners him against an endcap, and <em>stares</em>. It almost hurts to look at, but Gueira doesn't blink— just gives a half-smile at the blacklights inches from his nose.</p><p>Lio's voice falters.</p><p>"I'll let you know when the feeling's mutual."</p><p>And then, all at once, the lights flicker back on; doors thud in their frames. Customers angrily shake the handles, shouting complaints through the glass. Gueira squints at the sensory onslaught, but spins in place when he realizes Lio's pulled another disappearing act.</p><p>"Wait!" he shouts at the aether, knowing full well the jerk still hears him. "My name's Gueira, by the way! I'm serious about the buddy thing!"—</p><p>All he's given is a disembodied pat on the back before the front doors unlock on their own, opening the floodgates.</p><p>***</p><p>"Gueira."</p><p>"Thyma."</p><p>
  <em>"Gueira."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Thyma."</em>
</p><p>She pokes him, right between the eyes.</p><p>"I could fire you," she says, frowning that sweet sappy frown that always makes him feel bad.</p><p>"You <em>should</em> fire him," Meis deadpans, but his coffee cup fails to hide his smirk.</p><p>Gueira elbows him in the gut. It's 7am, and he's too tired to feel guilty.</p><p>"Look. I know I locked up early, but I swear, it was only for like, ten minutes—"</p><p>"You shouldn't be locking up during business hours at all," she sighs. </p><p>"It was important—"</p><p>"G-Man's trying to talk to Boss," Meis interrupts. He tucks his long legs up on a milk crate; he's wearing Gueira's jeans today, fixed at the waist with a belt made of carabiners. "My fault for feedin' that curiosity, though. We'll cut it out."</p><p>Thyma's face scrunches up in exhaustion, but she nods. It's weird, working for a manager who actually gives a shit about her employees— but Gueira's gotta remind himself not to overstep any boundaries. She doesn't deserve to be tag-teamed by a couple of chucklefucks like them. She deserves ice cream and a Maserati and a girlfriend.</p><p>"You deserve ice cream and a Maserati and a girlfriend," Gueira tells her, for the millionth time. "Sorry for giving you stress ulcers."</p><p>"It's okay," she sighs, patting him on the shoulder. "Please please <em>please</em> don't let it happen again, though, okay? I like you. I don't want you gone."</p><p>"No more summoning circles, I swear," Gueira smiles, stealing a sip of Meis' coffee.</p><p>When she heads into the back room, Meis rears his foot up and kicks Gueira on the butt. "A summoning circle? Really?"</p><p>"I mean, sorta? Used some candles and stuff?"</p><p>"Did it work?"</p><p>"Hell yeah it worked!" Gueira grins, kissing his fist and throwing up a peace sign (for Lio, of course). "He showed up real quick, too. Maybe he's lonely."</p><p>Meis rolls his eyes, stealing his coffee back. "Maybe he just wants to fuck with you."</p><p>"Can't imagine why anyone would wanna fuck with me," Gueira says, wiggling his eyebrows. </p><p>"Go home," Meis snorts, giving Gueira a shove on the shoulder. "You're off the clock."</p><p>"Pshhh. Pshhh! C'mere," Gueira says, leaning close enough to whisper in Meis' ear. He drops his voice real low. "You prove to me Casper the Friendly Ghost don't want our help like I say he does, and I'll give you a rim—"</p><p>"—<em>Out,</em>" Meis asserts. "Leave. Adios." He throws his car keys at Gueira, who catches them like a pro. He's gotten plenty used to it, by now.</p><p>***</p><p>Depeche Mode isn't his favorite, but he's out of skips.</p><p>Meis rings up a pack of gum and an air freshener shaped like a tree. He used to turn off his music for customers, but he sold his soul to corporate America nearly a decade ago. Now every sad sap who walks in the door has to put up with both the in-store playlist <em>and</em> his phone speaker— you know. Tactical warfare.</p><p>(Most people don't care. Who expects any better of him? Who anticipates courteous, professional service at a convenience store? He's got four pieces of metal in his face and a lazy eye. He'll play whatever dumb shit he wants.)</p><p>Today, though, he's in for a debate. The music pauses, before cutting off completely.</p><p>He feels his face curl up into a smirk.</p><p>"Now, Boss," he says, drumming his fingertips against the counter glass. "Don't you go takin' away my only source of sanity in this hellhole."</p><p>Spotify loads up a new album image, and something dark and German begins to play instead.</p><p>"... Okay, I can live with that," Meis chuckles, keeping his voice low— there are customers still in-store. "You got good taste, you know."</p><p>He waits for an answer, but nothing happens after that. </p><p>In a way, he's grateful when Boss leaves him hanging. Though Thyma and his rotating cast of coworkers all believe him, it's never easy talking about the things he's witnessed. You let it slip that you seen somethin' <em>paranormal,</em> people start lookin' at you differently. People stop asking you for advice, or trusting your word when you tell 'em why the cash register's still open-- why the lotto machine ain't working. What the armed robber looked like when he jammed a barrel between your eyes, because surely, you can't be trusted with that info either. </p><p>You tell someone a ghost story? You're a fool at best, a liar at worst, and there's nothing Meis wants to be less than a liar. <em>There's</em> somethin' he's not ready to admit to Gueira yet: he secretly gives a shit about what others think. Maybe almost too much.</p><p><em>Is it punk to be transparent with your emotions? </em>Maybe it is, but he's too gutless to find out.</p><p>An hour goes by, and the morning rush trickles out with their coffees and snack cakes. Meis leans back against the cigarette shelf, letting patches of sun warm his neck. "You sure like the new guy, huh?" he asks quietly. "Me too."</p><p>A bus breathes exhaust as it pulls away in the distance. He hopes Gueira's sleeping okay. Meis closes his eyes for a moment's worth of peace, bathing in the ambient sounds of the city around him— and then the Spotify station changes again.</p><p>
  <em>He's alright. He's alright. God is just alright with me.</em>
</p><p>Meis swallows the heartbeat in his throat and laughs. </p><p>"Gospel? Someone's got a sense of humor." He runs a hand through his hair, nerves alight in his fingers. "You think Gueira's alright? That it?"</p><p>His phone volume increases.</p><p>"Hey, don't go drainin' my battery," Meis shouts over the music. "You wanna talk, use your inside voice."</p><p>When the volume slowly decreases again, Meis shakes his head in awe. He's seen this guy plenty, sure. Caught his reflection in the fridge doors, or smelled that telltale stench of burnt rubber in the storeroom. Thing is, over a period of eight damn years, he's never <em>once</em> communicated with him. In walks Gueira, and suddenly it's a riot?</p><p>There's another thing he'd never tell his roommate: in a bestial, messed up kind of way, he's... well. Jealous.</p><p>"Why <em>now,</em> Boss?" Meis sighs, resting his face on his fist. "What took you so long?"</p><p>If a phone could be reluctant, it's doin' a damn good job of it. Spotify cycles through one, two, three, four different songs— before landing on good ol' Dolly Parton.</p><p>
  <em>Two doors down they're laughing and drinking and having a party, and two doors down they're not aware that I'm around. But here I am crying my heart out, feeling sorry, but they're having a party just two doors down.</em>
</p><p>Meis feels his own breath on his knuckles. He watches the seconds tick by on the playback bar.</p><p>
  <em>I think I'll dry these useless tears and get myself together. I think I'll wander down the hall and have a look around. 'Cause I can't stay inside this lonely room and cry forever— I think I'd really rather join 'em two doors down—</em>
</p><p>Meis' phone dies, and he stares at the counter. He keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the day, but he lights one of Gueira's leftover candles and sets it next to his sandwich. </p><p>He only eats half.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this was supposed to be a short ghosty-themed pwp fic, but I guess it's gonna take 4-ish chapters to get there. ope.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fifty yards out from the 7-Eleven parking lot, Gueira collapses on a lawn chair and breathes his dying breath. The sky looks pale and dusty as he groans out his goodbyes; through it all, his knees ache and his back sucks and his neck's all coated in sweat. He tells his new pal Lio to drag his sorry corpse over the guardrail and down the steep embankment on the other side.</p><p>"—And tell Thyma I never used my sick days, so she can have 'em if she wants. Meis gets my new stick of deodorant. It's one of those nice ones, y'know? The tropical ones? Old Spice Fiji, I think?"</p><p>He's got a smoke crushed between his teeth, and his head's tilted straight up to heaven. If Lio can't see his bloodshot eyes behind this big-ass pair of aviators, maybe Jesus can't either— Gueira's two tired hours into a ten hour shift, and he's already snuck an edible. </p><p>
  <em>Grant a dying man his vices.</em>
</p><p>He takes a long drag and woefully pulls the cigarette from his mouth. "Actually, never mind. Fiji's a new flavor, I don't think they made it when you were still kickin'."</p><p>"Flavor," Lio comments, mouth quirked. He's sitting cross-legged in the dirt beside him, cool and casual as ever. "Deodorant <em>flavor?"</em></p><p>"Yeah, that's what I said. <em>Flavor,"</em> Gueira snorts, tilting the lawn chair back on its hind legs.</p><p>"So you're an armpit licker. Got it."</p><p>"What? Fuck no, dude, but what else would I call it? Smell?" Gueira huffs. "<em>Species?</em> Deodorant <em>species?"</em></p><p>Lio laughs, cute and clear as morning. "Sure. Why not." He draws his knees up to his chest; his jeans are ripped in more than one place. "When's your break over, by the way?"</p><p>With a crinkled nose and a dramatic sigh, Gueira checks the time on his shattered phone screen. "Two minutes ago."</p><p>Lio tuts under his breath. "Sloppy."</p><p>"Yeah, I know. I'll revive myself in a sec."</p><p>They sit in silence as Gueira huffs another lungful of smoke— or as much silence as the shoulder of a busy backroad can provide. Cars whiz by and gusts of air push dry grass up against Gueira's legs. Lio doesn't seem to mind; he's got his eyes closed, peacefully soaking in the setting sun beside him.</p><p>Gueira feels guilty, for some reason. He passes Lio his cigarette.</p><p>"Wanna bum the rest?" he asks, eyebrows raised behind his sunglasses. "No cooties, I swear."</p><p>Something unreadable flashes across Lio's face. He hesitates, but reaches out and takes it. "Thanks." He raises it to his lips and keeps his eyes on the embankment in front of them. "Haven't had one of these in a while."</p><p>"I bet. I'll front you a full pack later," Gueira smiles, patting Lio on the shoulder— somehow, it's just as warm and human as ever. "You gonna chill out here in the meantime? Or head back in with me?"</p><p>Lio flicks ash to the ground and shrugs. "I'll meet you back inside. I can't do much out here anyway."</p><p>"Bored of counting cars, huh?"</p><p>"No. I just— this is about as far as I can go," Lio says. He lets Gueira hoist him up to his feet, and does that <em>thing</em> again where he withholds all the juicy details.</p><p>Over the past few weeks, Gueira's tried to get him to open up, but the damn kid won't crack. He's brought in food and books and his old Gameboy Advance, and sure— Lio likes 'em. Lio likes <em>everything,</em> 'cuz he's too damn polite to tell you otherwise. Yeah, he'll sneak up on ya, or fuck with your head if he thinks you're an easy target, but by and large, the guy's <em>nice.</em> Painfully, confusingly <em>nice.</em></p><p>Worst of all, he's so grateful for the attention, he'll say yes to everything. <em>Want the rest of my tuna n' pickle sandwich, Lio?</em> Yup. <em>Wanna listen to Cyndi Lauper's Greatest Hits?</em> Yeah, sure. Why not. <em>Thank you, thank you, thank you. </em></p><p>The more he agrees with, the less Gueira actually knows him— and the more he says <em>thank you,</em> the more Gueira wants to puke. How grateful can you be, when you're stuck in limbo forever?</p><p>To his left, Lio scoots his boots across the dirt. His eyes are distant as he breathes a puff of smoke through his nostrils, kinda like a dragon. "I died here," he says simply, before crushing the cigarette butt on the ground.</p><p>"What?" Gueira blinks.</p><p>Lio shrugs, mouth puffed up. He toes an overgrowth of field grass out of the way, exposing one of the guard rail's wooden supports. It's old and weathered from wind gusts and rain, but it's covered in carvings and small painted words.</p><p>
  <em>Rest easy, Boss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>RIP †</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bad Ass Bitch!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'61-'85</em>
</p><p>Gueira gapes like a fuckin' fish— as windy as it is right now, his hair whips against his face, and some of it gets in his mouth. He stares at the guardrail post. He ends up shaking his head, like it'll rattle his brain around enough to start talking again. "Lio— look, I'm sor—"</p><p>"Don't be."</p><p>"Don't give me that shit, I can be sorry if I wanna be—"</p><p>"Okay. Thank you. It's fine, though. I'm showing you this because I want to—"</p><p>"Cool! And I'm <em>processing</em> for a sec, okay?"</p><p>Gueira throws a hand beneath his collar, nervously rubbing at his own sweaty skin. Lio doesn't look <em>upset,</em> but he's starting to look <em>uncomfortable</em>. Speeding traffic whizzes by behind them, and Gueira becomes hyperaware of his stupid, fleshy, <em>living</em> limbs. Fortunately, he's bailed out of his stupor when Meis shouts at them from across the street. </p><p>"Hey, you done yet?" </p><p>He plays a dangerous game of Frogger as he slides between passing cars. City never did install a crosswalk, let alone a stoplight— didn't want to waste money on this side of town, Gueira guesses.</p><p>"What's up? Thyma sent me out to get you," Meis says when he reaches the highway shoulder. He steps behind the lawn chair and kicks up a cloud of dust. "I've got next break, and you're eatin' into my time."</p><p>"Sorry," Gueira says, but he's not sure who he meant it for. He scratches at his wrist, idling in place.</p><p>"You doin' okay?" Meis notices, stepping forward. He nearly knocks into Lio, who silently moves aside.</p><p>"Was talkin' to Boss," Gueira explains. He shoots the blonde a sympathetic look, but Meis just quirks his head.</p><p>"He out here?"</p><p>"Yeah, he's here right now. Can't you see him?"</p><p>"Nope," Meis shrugs.</p><p>"Ah," Gueira nods, stomach dropping. "Sucks."</p><p>Lio keeps his mouth shut. He stares at Meis, who looks right through him.</p><p>A tiny, short-lived dust devil picks up dirt and carries it across their shoes, but Lio's laces stay frozen in place. Meis gets real quiet, and tucks his breeze-whipped hair behind his ears. "See you found the memorial." He crosses over to the guard rail, squatting down low enough to brush a thumb over the carved hearts and crosses.</p><p>An eighteen-wheeler honks in the distance, and Gueira fuckin' <em>jumps</em>— it makes him mad, you know? Makes him fuckin' sick?</p><p>"Dude, you <em>knew</em> about it?" he grunts, pacing up to Meis, who snorts like it's funny.</p><p>"'Course. I been smokin' out here longer than you have. How'd ya think I learned his name was 'Boss'?"</p><p>"I mean— I don't know," Gueira says. He knows there's no reason to feel weird about this, but he does. He watches Meis fuck with the rail post for a few seconds before squeezing the back of his neck. "C'mon, stop touching it. This feels invasive."</p><p>Lio leans against the guardrail beside them, fingers hooked in his belt loops. "I promise you, it's fine."</p><p>Gueira shakes his head again.</p><p>"I wouldn't have shown it to you otherwise," Lio says impatiently, volume growing.</p><p>"Stop being so <em>polite,"</em> Gueira grunts, stepping back from the guard rail. "You're always so damn polite."</p><p>"What?" Meis squints.</p><p>"Man, I'm talkin' to Lio."</p><p>"Right. 'Course you are."</p><p>"Envy's real ugly on you, y'know."</p><p>"You wound me."</p><p>"You could talk to him too, you clown," Gueira huffs. "He's got <em>ears</em>—"</p><p>"Both of you. <em>Stop."</em></p><p>Lio loudly thwaps his wallet chain against the rail, sending metal echoes down its length like electricity along a wire. Gueira and Meis snap to attention.</p><p>"Stop <em>arguing</em>. I won't have you getting upset with each other on my behalf." He paces toward Gueira, sternly grips his jaw, and steers his face sideways with a surprising amount of force. For a hot second, Gueira puts up a fight, until he sees Meis' eyes go wide in recognition.</p><p>"Woah, right there! Hold that pose," he says, staring at the surface of Gueira's sunglasses. Heeled boots scuff against gravel as he moves in close— Gueira smells this morning's toothpaste on his breath. "I can see 'im," Meis damn near whispers.</p><p>"In the reflection?" Gueira asks, face still sandwiched between Lio's fingers.</p><p>"Yeah," Meis breathes. He slowly studies the image in the glass, then starts to nod in approval. Juts his chin up. "Hey, Boss."</p><p>Lio stares back, holding stony eye contact— maybe angry, maybe cautious— but he finally breaks away with a laugh.</p><p>"God, you two are a lot to deal with," he smirks, unable to hide his amusement. "And for what it's worth, I don't have anything against Meis. It's not for lack of trying that we've never been able to communicate."</p><p>Gueira wriggles out of Lio's grasp. "Why, then?"</p><p>"You're the first person who's ever heard me." Lio lets his hands drop down to his side, where he hastily tucks them into his pockets.</p><p>Gueira blinks.</p><p>"For real?"</p><p>"Or touched me," Lio shrugs, staring at the ground. "Have you always been sensitive to that sort of thing?"</p><p>"I ain't psychic, if that's what you're saying," Gueira says, letting Meis tug his chin sideways again, like he's a god damn adjustable rear view mirror. "Saw a UFO once, if that counts for anything?"</p><p>"Did you," Lio snorts.</p><p>"Sure did," Gueira smiles, cheeks bunching up around Meis' fingers.</p><p>"Alright," Lio sighs, nodding. "Well. In any case. You've got a talent, I guess... let Meis know I'm grateful for his company, by the way? I'm sorry he felt alone."</p><p>Gueira starts to wonder how many days they'd spent together without Meis even knowing it. He wriggles sideways, freeing his face again— grateful for being squeezed so hard, grateful for being touched in the first place. <em>Grateful, grateful, grateful</em>— suddenly all of Lio's <em>thank you's</em> made sense.</p><p>"What's he saying?" Meis asks. Despite the calm in his voice, he keeps cracking the air bubbles between his knuckles, loud enough to hear between the traffic.</p><p>Gueira sighs. "Says I'm the ghost whisperer, apparently. Guess I'm like, a medium or something? Also says he's not ignoring you. Just has some <em>technical difficulties,</em> you know?"</p><p>Beside him, Meis grips the lawn chair and nods. "... Rad."</p><p>"Don't know why he didn't just say that in the first place," Gueira teases, pointlessly winking at Lio from behind his shades. "He was real secretive about it the other night, weren'tcha Boss?" He paces next to Meis and bumps him in the hip. "Makes me think that's not the only reason he's been so skittish."</p><p>Lio's head snaps up in surprise. </p><p>"What are you impl—"</p><p>"There's no shame in being unable to communicate. That's something you don't got control over. But you know what you <em>can</em> control?" Gueira smirks, pointing directly at Lio. "All them times you played show-off to us. All that pizzazz you throw in when you want attention."</p><p>"That's not—"</p><p>"Oh, I see," Meis squints, catching on. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've <em>encountered</em> you, Boss, but you sure do put on a show when I finally <em>do</em>. Why all the lead-up? You want everything to go perfect?" He hums, flashing Gueira a look. "You a control freak?"</p><p>"Maybe," Gueira grins, hot and devilish, "Someone's <em>shy,</em> Meis. Maybe someone <em>cares</em> what we think of him." With that, he claps a hand on his partner's shoulder, tilts his head just enough to catch Lio's reflection in his aviators, and <em>waits</em>.</p><p>With wide, murderous eyes and hands bulging in his pockets— Lio flushes bright, bloody red, all the way to the tips of his ears.</p><p>"I never said anything like that."</p><p>Gueira chuckles. "You denying it?"</p><p>"I'm—" Lio breathes, cupping his hands around his nose. "Look. I've spent a long time by myself. I—"</p><p>"I think you're cool, Boss," Meis cuts in, speaking to the man he still can't hear. "I think you're out of this world, really. You don't gotta be so tight-assed around us, okay? We don't bite." He flashes Lio a sympathetic smile full of sharp canines and brutal honesty— two things that attracted Gueira to Meis in the first place.</p><p>Slowly, Lio squares his shoulders. </p><p>"... I like a little bite, if I'm being honest," he says, voice low. He stares at the two of them, calculating and curious, before turning to cross the busy road beside them.</p><p>There are three things Gueira sees before Lio fades from view:</p><p>-The way his adam's apple bobs in his throat, tight and gulping;<br/>-The way he shakes his head in disbelief, or frustration, or fondness;<br/>-The way he smiles when he thinks they're not looking.</p><p>***</p><p>The 7-Eleven restroom doubles as a fallout shelter.</p><p>Meis likes to spend his lunch breaks locked in the shitter, with a big thing of iced tea and a half-hour of Netflix. He's always been kind of anal about cleaning the toilets, so it's not the <em>worst</em> place to hole up and die, but it ain't exactly a palace, either. There's a floor drain covered in hair, a couple cans of Raid in the corner, and a whole lotta sharpie on the ceiling. He stares at the peeling posters on the wall, all listing state phone numbers and chemical warnings, and that's when he finally notices this place is, apparently, a nuclear bunker. </p><p>You learn something new every day.</p><p>He flicks his attention back to his phone screen, where Tim Gunn's talking about silhouettes and party satin. He takes a sip of tea and sets the jug on the sink beside him— but Meis has shoddy luck, and the entire thing tips over into the basin. He watches it all glug out down the drain, too shocked to react in time; it's fine, <em>it's fine</em>.</p><p>It's fine.</p><p>He locks his phone screen and stares at the wall.</p><p>Imagine spending your life here. Imagine spending your <em>afterlife</em> here. Imagine going years without contact, with only cameo appearances in glass doors or cracked mirrors; with blue-moon grabs for attention, like leaving hundreds of pennies on the counter for someone to find. Meis can't fault the guy for wanting a reaction. He can't be mad at someone who's been trying all this time— and hasn't given up yet.</p><p>
  <em>"I think I saw a ghost," Meis chuckles, nineteen and newly-hired. He's got a big, sticky binder full of training materials stuffed under his armpit, and all the color's gone out of his skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You a joker or a junkie?" his boss laughs back, tossing him a used company polo. Meis is supposed to take it home and wash it every night, but he doesn't want his family to see it— not with the logo embroidered on the breast. He'd told his mom he'd been hired by a local tutoring company, and the lie was starting to get to him. He'd dropped out of college last week, and he still hasn't gathered the courage to mention it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So, the polo stays here. He figures he can rinse it in the sink before he clocks on in the morning— if he doesn't quit on impulse first.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Neither. Saw 'im clear as day. Covered in blood, my age, maybe? Standin' behind me by the ice machine—"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look. Finish reading the binder, take the safety assessment, and head home. Get some sleep. Show up clean."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Meis knows he's not talking about hygiene.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Still, he's pissed, so he heads straight for the bathroom. He locks the door and stuffs the shirt behind the toilet tank, runs the sink tap, and splashes his face with cold water. He knows what he saw, and he ain't a damn liar— but then he remembers his "tutoring gig" fib, and grins.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Guess he is, now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fuck you," he tells himself in the mirror. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He breathes through his nose, scrunches his fingers up so he can feel them again. He balls up his hair and ties it back in a bun. He flicks off the light and resigns himself to the stockroom, where he stays until he clocks off for the day.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When he arrives the next morning, 6am on the dot, he's surprised to find his polo's already been washed. It's folded neatly on a box under the sink. To his confusion, scribbled on the tag in permanent marker, are the words:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Good luck.</em>
</p><p>Eight years later, Meis tips his head down and blinks. He sits as serenely as he would in church, with his knees spread wide and his hands folded between them. When he finally pushes himself upright, he tucks his shirt back into his belt, and turns to clean up the tea spill.</p><p>"Thanks, Boss," he says, rinsing out the jug. "You're a real stand-up guy, you know." </p><p>Behind him, Lio humbly offers a shrug. He's got a sharpie hooked on his collar, and a nametag pinned to his leather jacket. Meis makes out the last name "Fotia" before Lio leaves the mirror, and he texts it to himself before he can forget it.</p><p>You learn something new every day.</p><p>***</p><p>October brings high fevers and low paychecks. Gueira catches a bug sometime around the tenth, and Meis contracts a weird infection after slicing himself open with a box cutter. As loathe as they are to leave, they promise Thyma their speedy recoveries and a couple of forged doctor's notes.</p><p>Lio, on the other hand, doesn't get the memo.</p><p>Gueira tried, he really did: left him a note, called out for him in every corner of the store. It's not like Lio to be gone for long, now that they're good pal-eroonis. The three of them often sit behind the register together, playing Texas Hold 'Em or Craps. Meis bakes cookies, or brings in tiny slips of paper that you're supposed to fold into stars. It's gotta be funny for him— seein' things levitate as Lio expertly handles them, or watching food disappear before his eyes. Gueira himself's always swallowing a little feeling of delight when they all hang out these days, like there's nothin' weird about having a dead friend and a newfound sense of belonging.</p><p>That's why it's worrying when Lio goes NCNS. Granted, he doesn't have to show up every day if he doesn't want to, but still. Something's off.</p><p>With a shit-load of reluctance, Gueira takes two sick days. Meis is home for a bit too, finishing up a round of expired antibiotics. Supposedly, Thyma got District to supply outside shift coverage, but he's wholly unsurprised when he sees the store number calling him at 4am. They probably need him ASAP; it's not Thyma's fault, he knows. That's just how crap jobs go, sometimes.</p><p>His arm flops out of bed and slaps around for the phone. "What up," he mutters, half-asleep and snotty.</p><p>"Gueira?" </p><p>It takes a bit of brain juice to realize who he's talking to.</p><p>"Lio?" Gueira grunts, sitting up too quickly. "The fuck? You okay?"</p><p>"Me? I'm asking you. Are <em>you</em> okay?"</p><p>"Yeah, I'm real peachy— just took a couple days off. Where are you?"</p><p>There's a crackle on the other end of the line. It momentarily distorts Lio's voice, making it hard to hear.</p><p>"Yo, Boss, you're gonna have to repeat that," Gueira says, grunting down the urge to cough. "You're cuttin' out."</p><p>"Sorry. Can you hear me now?"</p><p>"Yeah. Go ahead."</p><p>Beside him, Meis stirs in his sleep. A bony arm curls around Gueira's middle and tugs him sideways.</p><p>"I just wanted to check in with you, that's all. It's been a while."</p><p>Gueira frowns. He can't fault the guy for being lonely, but— "It's cool. It's been two days? I'll be in tomorrow, no worries."</p><p>The silence on the other end of the line concerns him, but he doesn't wanna make Lio feel awkward. Instead, he lays back down and waits, watching passing headlights move across the bedroom walls around him.</p><p>"Boss?" he tries again, after what feels like minutes. "Are you there?"</p><p>Another bit of interference, another distorted something-or-other; but Lio's deep voice is calm and reassuring. "Save the concern. I'll be okay."</p><p>After he hangs up, Gueira stares at his lock screen, confused. Maybe it's the Robitussin, or the pounding headache behind his eyes, but...</p><p>
  <em>Save the concern. I'll be okay.</em>
</p><p>He'd heard that line before, hadn't he?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>did you know Big Gulp isnt the biggest size 7-Eleven carries? did you know there's a Super Big Gulp? and a Double Gulp? also, just a Gulp, if you wanna go smaller. I don't work for 7-Eleven, I just find this information fascinating. my housemate told me all of this last night.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>c/w this temporarily veers into sickfic, and I know that's a tough topic for some people right now. just a heads up, take care &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gueira doesn't sleep after that.</p><p>He stays up 'til morning, Googling things like <em>can ghosts use phones</em> or <em>do ghosts forget theyre dead</em>— neither gives him serious answers, but he <em>does</em> find a forum where whackjobs post all their paranormal conspiracies. </p><p>(The newest thread is titled "Did Anyone Else See The Sun Turn Off Today?" Naturally, Gueira clicks on it. It's got thirty-one replies, most in agreement; the sun, apparently, is a faulty hologram. A glitch in the matrix. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and he's part of the simulation too.)</p><p>Meis eventually rolls over, barely awake. "God, turn your brightness down," he grumbles, mouth pressed into the mattress. </p><p>"Sorry," Gueira says, dulling his phone screen. "Was reading." He runs a sleeve over his sniffly nose and curses the incoming daylight— he's still sick as hell, and he's got work in an hour.</p><p>"You're never up this early," Meis huffs, pushing himself up on his elbows. "You feelin' okay?"</p><p>"Not really. Boss called."</p><p>"Thyma want you in before your shift?"</p><p>"Other boss," Gueira corrects, dropping his phone to his chest. </p><p>"Wait. Lio?" Meis squints.</p><p>"Yeah," Gueira nods, sniffing again. "Caller ID said it was the work landline. 'Bout 4am. Was kinda hard to hear him though, and it was real weird— like, there was a lag, or something?" He tries to sit up again, and succeeds long enough to launch into a coughing fit.</p><p>"Hey. Easy," Meis soothes, rhythmically thumping him on the back. "You can't go in like this."</p><p>But Gueira only shakes his head, still catching his breath. "I wanna check on him. I'm worried, y'know? Somethin' didn't feel right."</p><p>"Let me get this straight. He called you? And he... what, asked for help?"</p><p>"Well— no, he said he was fine, but—"</p><p>"You're goin' off intuition, here," Meis understands, surprisingly well. "I got you. But you can't go runnin' off right now, you sound like you skipped a TB shot."</p><p>Gueira grunts, flopping sideways. "I'll be fine. I can't take another sick day." He (pathetically) noodles six inches to the right before he's pinned down against the sheets, taking the brunt of Meis' weight above him. Long, sleep-mussed hair cascades down around their faces. There's a moment of calm, before Meis blows a puff of air onto Gueira's forehead.</p><p>"Look. This is gonna sound harsh, but I want it to sink in. Boss? He's already dead. He's been worm chow for decades. Nothin's gonna hurt him worse than a ten hour shift's gonna hurt you. I know you've got this <em>Sixth Sense</em> thing goin' on right now, but I need you to take care of yourself first. Got it?"</p><p>Slowly, Gueira nods. He brings one hand up around the back of Meis' neck, then the other. It's sweaty where he laces them together, pulling Meis down just an inch or two further.</p><p>"Demanding," he grunts, flicking his gaze upward. "Domesticity's makin' you bossy, babe."</p><p>"Yeah, well, sue me for being concerned," Meis huffs. He brushes a knuckle along the length of Gueira's cheek— which would be sweet, if it weren't a prelude to the gnarliest sneeze Gueira's shoved out of his nostrils all week.</p><p>Luckily, this also provides him with an escape route. While Meis shuts his eyes and wipes the spritz off his face, Gueira shoves out from underneath him. "Sorry, not sorry. I'm heading out, and you can't stop me," he says, grabbing his shoes and his keys. "I'll only be a bit. Just gonna check on things, yeah? Promise."</p><p>On the bed, Meis sits like a statue, eyes still closed and mouth hanging slack. "Oh, okay, sure. Great. Sneeze on me and fuck right off, then."</p><p>"Bye!" Gueira shouts, wiggling out the front door.</p><p>"Don't come cryin' to me when you pass out at—" The door slams, shaking the walls. Meis winces, meditating in uncomfortable, newfound silence. </p><p>He gives Gueira a three minute head-start, before heaving out a sigh and following after him.</p><p>*** </p><p>What Gueira <em>didn't</em> mention was that he found what he'd been looking for.</p><p>Three pages deep into the forum, he discovers a post about <em>time</em>. It's got a lot of references to junk he doesn't understand, like Einstein and quantum physics, and he's pretty sure half of it is bullshit these people made up on the spot to fit their nutcase narratives. Still, he can't help but wonder if that's what happened earlier— the lag on the phone, the worry in Lio's voice when he said <em>it's been a while</em>. </p><p>Gueira chalked it up to being dead and clingy, but parked outside the store in the foggy remnants of dawn, he was having second thoughts. It'd been two days for him and Meis, sure— but how long had it been for <em>Lio?</em></p><p>
  <em>Time dilation: the faster u go, the more u slow down time. Like when you get close to an event horizon. If someone back on earth were watching you careen into a black hole, youd eventually look frozen in time - 7/9/2014</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Time isn't linear. Time gets real fucked up around electromagnetic fields. Once I drove home on the highway and passed a covered wagon, but when I turned around to get a better look, it was gone. - 7/10/2014</em>
</p><p>
  <em>well u know what they say! energy imprints too! besides u change the energy of something u change the frequency. E = hv. theres also the theory that our universe is colliding with another universe we just cant see it in 3d we need to see in 4d. we r too primative! - 7/12/2014</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I believe you. The wagon was real - 7/12/2014</em>
</p><p>Okay, maybe these people were off their fuckin' rockers. But hey, it's something.</p><p>He leans against the steering wheel and stares at the building in front of him. Nothing looks "off". Nothing looks warped, or out of the ordinary. There's a sale on Camels and Rockstars this week, but other than that, it's the same old convenience store he's worked at since May. </p><p>Maybe Meis was right. Maybe he's sicker than he realizes.</p><p>He pockets his phone and pops open the car door. He stumbles his way around the curb, hacks a cough into his elbow, and shoulders into the bright lights of the store entrance.</p><p>"Gueira?" </p><p>Thyma looks up from a book. She's leaning against the counter with a frown on her face. "Are you okay? You look awful—"</p><p>"You seen Lio?" he asks, cutting her off.</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>He swallows the urge to cough again. "Boss. Ghost guy."</p><p>"Oh. Right. Um... no, sorry," she answers, eyes widening. She looks real concerned, which should probably bug Gueira too, but he's too dazed to care. He barely registers her hand on his forehead, or the way she managed to walk over so quickly. <em>Guess time dilation's real after all,</em> he laughs to himself.</p><p>"You're a whole hour early. I think you need to go back home," she continues, gently brushing his bangs aside. "You're really hot right now, G."</p><p>"I feel fine. Real swell. Pinky promise," he lies. "Lio called me this morning. Used the store phone. You sure you didn't see him?"</p><p>Thyma ignores him, which is really rude of her, to be honest. She guides him into the backroom and plops him down at her desk. It's dingy and dark, but it's easier to breathe, at least. "Thyma. Manager of the year. You're killin' me here."</p><p>"No one used the phone this morning, Gueira," she says softly. "I'm going to let Meis know you need to be picked up, okay?"</p><p>"What do you <em>mean</em> no one used it? Lio used it. Thyma—"</p><p>"Stay here," she urges, rubbing his shoulder. It's nice. She deserves ice cream and a Maserati and a girlfriend. Definitely deserves a raise, too. "I'll be right back, okay?"</p><p>"Aight," he agrees, slouching down against the plush of the desk chair. </p><p>He really does feel like shit.</p><p>He tries not to think about what she said— that no one called him in the first place, that maybe he's batshit delirious. He probably should've listened to Meis and stayed put, but he <em>knows</em> something weird is happening. He just can't <em>ignore</em> it— he can feel it in his guts!</p><p>He pukes in her trash can, and realizes he's in trouble.</p><p>"Thyma?" he calls out feebly. He pushes himself upright, wobbles over to the doorway, and pokes his head out into the storefront.</p><p>Behind the register, Lio cashes out a customer— hair pinned up, apron tied around his neck. He bags their purchase and laughs at something inaudible.</p><p>He looks up at Gueira and freezes.</p><p>***</p><p>"I think I saw a ghost today," he says, humming around a fork. He lets it hang from his mouth as he locks the front door, then hastily flips a sign around. </p><p>
  <em>Lunch! Will return at: 2 PM</em>
</p><p>Lio paces back to the register, where he digs into a fruit cup and spears another peach. "I know that sounds ridiculous, but I'm open to the idea of life after death," he continues. "What do you think?"</p><p>"I think you need a break, Boss. Maybe a nice long vacation."</p><p>"Please," Lio scoffs, mouth full. "You think I have the patience to relax?"</p><p>"Switch to pot," his coworker smirks. "All that nicotine's just gonna amp you up more."</p><p>Lio makes a V with his fingers. When he sticks his tongue between them, his friend shrieks and thwaps him on the shoulder.</p><p>"Motherfucker," she laughs, unzipping her lunchbox and passing him a lukewarm can of Slice. "Here, hydrate." </p><p>He ignores her and reads the label, eyebrow piqued. "This any good?"</p><p>"It's okay," she shrugs. </p><p>He pops the tab and gives it an experimental sip. He glances at it approvingly, sets it on the counter, and says "I'll pay you back tomorrow."</p><p>Gueira scrunches his face up, trying to remember why this feels so familiar. He leans against the wall for balance, because he's starting to get dizzy.</p><p>***</p><p>The walls of the co-op get a fresh coat of paint. It's been here for forty years now, and Lio thinks it could use some TLC. There are tarps and rollers set out near the entryway, and he carefully twists around an exterior ladder— call him superstitious.</p><p>Once inside, he scrapes his still-burning Lucky Strike across the counter and tucks it behind his ear. Gueira notices company; two others dressed in overalls, scratchy paintbrushes in-hand.</p><p>"Gimme a boost, I'll do the crown molding," a teenager with headgear tells Boss. They're both covered in splotches of teal and pink, and when he smiles, Lio looks brighter than the sunrise.</p><p>"Okay. On three. One— two—"</p><p>Three. He lifts the kid like it's nothin', elegant shoulders effortlessly hauling him up in the air. Lio's wearing a tank top, and it drapes down around the sharp, graceful curve of his neck. He's always been tougher than he looks, but he's usually drowning beneath layers of leather and mud. </p><p>He looks healthy here. Strong and streamlined, like fiberglass. Unguarded, like he's allowed to be, for once.</p><p>"Shit— watch out—" the teen gasps, drizzling paint on Lio's head. It splats across his face, but instead of getting mad, he snorts, and breaks out in laughter.</p><p>"You're good," Lio smirks, carefully blinking his eyelids open. "Try to keep it on the walls, though?"</p><p>Gueira pushes himself upright, heading toward a produce display some feet in front of him. He knocks a cantaloupe on the floor, and Lio instantly snaps to attention.</p><p>His eyes glow hot and violet, just for a moment; he blinks, and hoists the kid back down again. "One sec. I heard something."</p><p>Lio paces over to the produce display, eyes locked on Gueira's. He's silent when he stalks, as smooth and dangerous as a wildcat. Carefully, he slows to a halt in front of him, and despite all of Gueira's brain fog, he stands up straight and stares right back.</p><p>No one speaks. Gueira feels sweat collecting on his nose— a strong pressure in his sinuses, like his head's gonna explode—</p><p>"We got rats, maybe?" the kid asks, voice cutting through the quiet.</p><p>Lio doesn't answer. He searches for something in Gueira's face, confusion knitting his brows together. Gueira wants to reach out and touch him, but his hands feel funny and his brain says <em>don't</em>.</p><p>Slowly, Lio blinks away. He drops into a squat and picks up the fallen cantaloupe. </p><p>"Probably," he finally answers. "I'll look into it."</p><p>***</p><p>When the grocery co-op burns down, Lio's left with a torn community and empty reassurances. <em>We'll rebuild it in no time,</em> a city commissioner promises. <em>You're not alone in this,</em> someone on the board of directors tells him. <em>It was falling apart, Fotia; the payout will contribute to something even better,</em> one of his co-owners celebrates.</p><p>He dismounts his motorbike and stares at the rubble; the building's skeleton stands blackened and lonely. It was his fault, but they don't know that yet. It was an accident, but it doesn't feel like one.</p><p>He should've quit smoking ages ago—he'd left a cigarette butt on the windowsill.</p><p>Lio steadies himself. He's here to collect paperwork from the safety deposit box, wherever it ended up. It's raining now, and he's already soaked down to his boots. He sorts through the mess with a cleanup crew, nails gathering soil as they salvage what they can. He looks dirty and dead and miserable, and he supposes he feels that way too.</p><p>Someone asks him if he wants to take a break. "I'm fine," he insists— when they don't listen, he tells them again.</p><p>"I'm <em>fine,</em>" he keeps saying, until annoyance turns to anger. He feels a throb in his muscles and a heat in his heart and he knows he should disengage, but <em>fuck</em>— this was his fault, so he keeps digging. This was his <em>duty</em>, so he keeps digging. </p><p>Eventually, he's told him to go home.</p><p>He rights himself, standing straight and sharp like an arrow, and he fires at someone who doesn't deserve it. He yells something cruel and uncalled for, like he always does when he goes too far— </p><p>It's too much: his frustration, his guilt, his shameful lack of control. It stays with him, even when he pulls out of the parking lot. Even when he merges too haphazardly, onto the busy backroad without a stoplight.</p><p>***</p><p>Lio freezes where he stands— goes so owl-eyed, the guy at the register stares right back at him. Maybe he's crying 'cuz he got caught stealing Skittles. Maybe he's— ... no, he doesn't actually know why he's crying. He's water-logged and reeks of gasoline, and his dirty leather jacket is four times too big for his body. </p><p>The guy notices the muddy hair and the bloody fingernails, so he drops his magazine and rises to his feet.</p><p>"Hey, you okay? You look like shit," he says, frowning.</p><p>Lio doesn't blink.</p><p>"I mean. <em>You</em> look fine, but you look like shit. Overall. You know?" the guy backtracks, throwing his hands up in peace. "Like, you got some blood there—"</p><p>"I'm fine," Lio hears himself answer. He holds himself together the best he can, but he feels like he's coming unglued.</p><p>"Ooookay, well. You need a bandaid or some water or somethin', just ask."</p><p>"I'm <em>fine,"</em> he repeats, pushing his hair back; it's greasy and matted. He swallows his fear.</p><p>Lio's positive he's never seen this man before— but it feels like he has. He's familiar, in a way that makes Lio ache.</p><p>"Alright, well. You get home safe, yeah? Forget about the Skittles, I'll cover you. Just don't let me catch you jackin' my shit again, deal?"</p><p>He nods. "Sure."</p><p>"Cool. You need a ride? You know where you're goin'?"</p><p>There's a static in the air around them. Lio's vision is blurry, and the neon open sign glows bright with starry halos, like lights on a rainy highway. He has a headache. He needs to leave.</p><p>"Save the concern. I'll be okay," he tells the man. He digs in his pockets, pulls out a few dimes, and drops them on the counter by the register. They're just as muddy as he is, but they're apparently all he has.</p><p>***</p><p>Gueira doesn't know where he is, but it's dark. Pitch black. All the lights are shut off, or maybe his vision finally crapped out on him. He sheds his jacket and drops it by his feet, because he's <em>sweltering.</em></p><p>He briefly wonders if he's dead. Maybe he passed out in the 7-Eleven backroom after all. Meis'll kill him for croaking without him— on their first date, sometime between their sixth round of shots and their matching tattoos, they'd promised each other <em>"no lonely deaths".</em> Shitfaced or not, Gueira knows how honest that promise was.</p><p>God, he's hot though. He feels like he's melting, like his bloodstream is full of magma and it's welding all his organs together. He thinks he sees a light ahead; this is it, this is the end, he's in the tunnel everyone always raves about—</p><p>Except he's not. He's standing in the middle of Lio's old co-op, between aisles of groceries and barrels of grain. It's night, it's closed, and it's on fire.</p><p>The front door— one big pane of glass— superheats, and explodes outward into hundreds of tiny shards. Gueira reflexively shields his body, even though he's standing across the room from it. What concerns him more, though, is the curve of Lio's body hunched over on the curb outside— he's gripping a handheld phone, much too new to be his own—</p><p>"Gueira?" he hears Lio say, over the roar of the flames.</p><p>"Lio!" Gueira barks out, desperately coming to his senses. "Lio, the fuck? Are you okay?"</p><p>But he doesn't seem to hear him— not in the way he should. Lio continues to speak into the receiver. "Me? I'm asking you. Are <em>you</em> okay?"</p><p>Gueira opens his mouth to answer, but before he can speak, he <em>hears his own voice</em> come out of the phone: </p><p>
  <em>"Yeah, I'm real peachy— just took a couple days off. Where are you?"</em>
</p><p>It's starting to get smoky. Gueira struggles to cross the burning room and shove himself through the shattered door frame. Lio doesn't seem to notice— him, the fire, the inky blackness surrounding them— until Gueira hooks an arm around him and drags him to his feet. The force of it snaps Lio out of his trance; he twists around, and he's as bloody and battered as usual.</p><p>"Why are you here," he jerks sideways, suddenly lucid and aware. "How did you—"</p><p><em>"Yo Boss, you're gonna have to repeat that. You're cuttin' out,"</em> the phone says.</p><p>"Why am <em>I</em> here? Forget that, why are <em>you</em> here?" Gueira shouts, wildly gesturing behind him. "Case you haven't noticed, it's a little warm at the moment!"</p><p>Lio shakes his head defensively. "I know. You need to leave."</p><p>A crossbeam crumbles in the building behind them, and Gueira jumps in shock. "Buddy, I ain't leavin' without you. I've been trying to get your attention, and you keep lookin' at me like you never even <em>met</em> me."</p><p>"Sorry," Lio huffs. "I get— Things get weird here sometimes."</p><p>"I can tell," Gueira snorts, gesturing at the phone. "You rang up Yesterday Gueira, for what it's worth. You put in the wrong dimensional area code or somethin'?"</p><p>"Did I?" Lio frowns. "Sorry. I just wanted to check in with you, that's all. It's been a while."</p><p>
  <em>"It's cool. It's been two days? I'll be in tomorrow, no worries."</em>
</p><p>Gueira looks at the phone, then looks at Lio: all his torn skin and road rash, his long eyelashes and pretty jawline. He feels the heat of the fire licking his ankles— but weirdly enough, he starts to ease into the feeling.</p><p>"Boss, is this where you go when you leave us? I think you're stuck here."</p><p>Lio chuckles, stuffing the phone under his armpit. He walks the curb like a balancing beam. "I'm painfully aware of that, thank you."</p><p>"Then let's find a way out! Pretty sure I've been stompin' all over your memories, bub. You keep reliving this junk over and over again, don't you?" Gueira points. "Doesn't that fuck with your head?"</p><p>"How much did you see?" Lio grunts, suddenly spinning on his heels. "I <em>really</em> don't want you rooting through all of that."</p><p>Gueira shrugs. "Too late."</p><p>The fire crawls along the sidewalk, igniting the dry weeds poking through the cracks. Heat rises up to Gueira's knees, but it doesn't seem to hurt him.</p><p>"I'm not proud of how I've handled some things," Lio admits. "I'm not sure what you were witness to, but I hope you know that."</p><p>"<em>Pshh</em>. Everybody's got shit they're not proud of. That's just, like, the human experience. You grow from that, you know?"</p><p>The fire flashes blinding white, but only for a moment.</p><p>"Lio, c'mon. If you know a way outta this, let's take it. Let's wake you up, man. We can jack Thyma's desktop for a shitty movie night, talk all this over—"</p><p>"No. I'm done. I can handle my own baggage—"</p><p>"Lio. <em>Buddy</em>. Let us help you, dammit—"</p><p>"You don't know when to back off!" Lio unpredictably explodes, something horned and hideous now. "You keep trying to be <em>friends</em>, but what happens if I never come back? Do you know how long I've been stuck in this cycle? What's a couple of days to you?" he growls, gaining ground on Gueira. "Three weeks for me, this time. Anytime I'm not with you, I'm <em>here</em>. You think you can just— what, offer a <em>way out?</em> Like you think you can change anything?" </p><p>Lio shoves Gueira on the shoulder, forcing him to take a step backwards. It doesn't hurt. Gueira doesn't retaliate. </p><p>"Let's say we all get what we want. Let's be <em>friends</em>. What happens when I finally fuck up and piss you guys off? You leave, and I can't follow you? Nothing gets <em>fixed?"</em> He shoves him again, eyes taking in light like a predator. This time, Gueira reacts on instinct— he grips Lio's forearm, anchoring him in place.</p><p>"I mean, yeah, if me n' Meis wanna leave, we'll leave! Maybe that'll happen, man, I don't know. You gotta figure out if that's a risk you wanna take." Gueira stares him down. They're both alight with furious energy, engulfed in flames that still don't burn them. "But you gotta give up that control, Lio. It'll be okay. Nobody can burn down <em>everything."</em></p><p>For a moment, Lio hesitates. Gueira holds his breath, hoping he's somehow gotten through to him—</p><p>Then the building beside them collapses, and the fire finally hurts.</p><p>***</p><p>When Gueira comes to, he's sprawled on the concrete floor, shivering and soaked through with sweat. The sweet taste of acid coats his tongue— fuck, he musta' blown chunks again. Gentle hands cup the back of his head, keeping him turned on his side; he blinks, and realizes Meis is looming over him.</p><p>"You good, G?" he asks, voice soft with concern. He pushes the hair out of Gueira's eyes. "We got some help on the way."</p><p>But Gueira only grunts. "Found Boss."</p><p>"Oh yeah?" Meis hums.</p><p>"Yeah," he says, closing his eyes. The room won't stop spinning, but Meis keeps stroking his forehead. "Think he hates me now."</p><p>Meis sighs deep in his chest, before scrunching down to kiss Gueira's temple. At first, Gueira thinks he's humoring him. He did just have a wackadoo trip through hell and back, and he feels too weak to explain himself. He's a regular Dorothy Gale, insisting what he saw in Oz was real—</p><p>Except Meis almost sounds relieved. Sure 'nuff, Gueira looks up and sees Meis smiling, like he knows something he's not supposed to know.</p><p>"Told ya he's fun when he's pissy."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>god I hope that made sense<br/>I've never tried recycling previous dialogue/scenes before... I'm normally not big on time loop tropes but Emotional Ghost Limbo sounds sad and frustrating especially with someone as unyielding as Lio</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>c/w: lil more sickfic action, hospitals</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> It was just some boards of rough cut pine, and a quilt of patchwork cotton. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A place to lay your body down, a place to rest your head... </em>
</p><p>See, Meis never sings much anymore, let alone in a place full of lab coats and call buttons. Bein' up onstage with a beer in-hand is one thing, but that comes with a band and a <em> willing </em> audience. Here? He's got nurses checking vitals on a <em> maybe willing </em> Gueira, who's hardly heard 'im sing more than the O'Reilly Auto Parts radio jingle (and the alphabet burped backwards). Poor fuck's still conked out on a hospital bed, and Meis hasn't let go of his hand in hours.</p><p>
  <em> Now time has dried up all the tears, n' here I stand a man. Your arms reach out to touch my soul, your sweet words turn my head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Darlin', won't you tell me first, this will be forever? Before you lead me up the stairs to that big four poster bed— 'cause only love has ever touched that big four poster bed. </em>
</p><p>Beside him, Gueira smirks, eyes still screwed shut.</p><p>"Man, I thought you hated country—"</p><p>"I do," Meis sighs in quiet relief. He rubs a thumb across the back of Gueira's knuckles. "But Brenda Lee don't count."</p><p>"Right," Gueira says, blinking his eyes open. They look as tired as Meis feels, but they're pretty all the same— a brown so warm, it reminds him of summer brushfire. Gueira always calls 'em "hemorrhoid red ", but then again, Gueira refuses to see the best in himself sometimes.</p><p>"Sorry for wakin' you up," Meis tells him, voice low. "Tried to keep it quiet."</p><p>Gueira squeezes his hand in return. "Nah. You're good. You sing real good."</p><p>It's quiet. Meis tries to accept the compliment, but his heart's beating too fast.</p><p>"Really! You should sing more," Gueira continues, rattling their hands so hard his IV line jiggles. "Thought you just did that doom metal death growl shit. Don't get me wrong, that's hot as fuck too, but—"</p><p>"Cut the sweet talk," Meis whispers, cheeks hot. "Told the check-in desk we're cousins so I could hang with you. Don't blow my cover."</p><p>"<em>Cousins </em>?" Gueira squints. "You just sang me a damn love song!"</p><p>"Hm. Did I?" Meis says, playfully raising an eyebrow.</p><p>"You're a shit-head," Gueira laughs, before coughing so hard he curls up in a ball.</p><p>The medical chart at the foot of the bed says <em>Promepolis County Hospital</em>. It says<em> insurance co: n/a. </em>It says <em>Emile Gueira</em>, <em>age 25,</em> <em>admitting diagnosis: influenza</em>, and then it has a bunch of abbreviations underneath that Meis doesn't understand. There are timestamps and signatures and scribbles in the corner (when the nurse's pen stopped working), and it's proof enough that Gueira's in good hands now.</p><p>That doesn't make him feel any better.</p><p>"I should've told you sooner," Meis says, peeling his hand away from Gueira's. "All of it. Everything I knew about Lio—"</p><p>"What?" Gueira grunts, propping himself up by the elbows.</p><p>"— Maybe if you'd known what to expect, you wouldn'a had to deal with all of this," Meis continues. "I was a cryptic ass bitch about everything, and it landed you in the hospital. I'm sorry, G. You deserved better."</p><p>"Woah, where's this coming from?" Gueira asks, screwing his face up. "You really think you woulda stopped my fuckin' clownery with a little info dump? Man, have you met me?" He untucks his knees from his chest and grins like a power surge. "You mean when I dipped out and drove to the store to find Lio, right? I didn't run off at 6am in my jammies 'cuz I wanted <em> answers </em> , I ran off 'cuz I wanted <em> reassurance." </em></p><p>"That's the same thing," Meis deadpans. "Those are synonyms."</p><p>"Shut up. No they're not." Gueira slaps Meis on the back of his hand, and it only hurts a little. "I didn't want to know where Lio was for <em> curiosity's </em> sake. I don't give a shit about that. I just wanted to make sure he was okay! You coulda told me he turns blue and fucks off to Mars, and I'd still find a way to get to him!"</p><p>"'Course you would," Meis says. "You're a good guy. You got a conscience on you. Unfortunately, I do too, so let me have this for once." He leans down, taking all his uncombed morning hair with him— then he presses a kiss right up against Gueira's knuckles. "My fault or not, let me be sorry for a while. I don't wanna keep any more secrets from you."</p><p>Gueira hums. Considers this for a moment.</p><p>"Okay. Then explain how you knew about... whatever all of <em> that </em> was," he says quietly, watching nurses pace by their station outside. "It felt like hell. Was that hell, Meis?"</p><p>"Maybe for him," he sighs, pushing his hair back with his fingers. "Truth be told, I don't know. But I've seen it before. Walked in the store 'round midnight once, and suddenly everything was on fire. It's like I stepped right into a place that shouldn't exist, you know?"</p><p>Gueira nods, like he understands. Meis hopes to god that he doesn’t.</p><p>"Next thing I see is Boss lit up like the devil at Christmas. Bright, burning, furious with me for— I don't know, interrupting his pity party or somethin'. All black with these big fuckin' horns, but it was still him. Once he knew I saw him, he booted me out. Back to reality, right?" Meis sighs and steeples his fingers around his nose. "I came to on the linoleum by the soda machine. Whole thing only took ten seconds or so, but in that moment I saw 'im, it felt like time froze solid. Makes me sad for the guy if that's his <em> hell </em>."</p><p>Something flashes across Gueira's face— surprise, maybe. His eyes get big and he licks his sad, dry lips before he speaks. "But you didn't see the other stuff? The old co-op? The bike accident?"</p><p>"Only saw Boss himself and a bunch of flames. Anything else is all on you, G," Meis shrugs. "I think you're operating on a whole 'nother level than the rest of us."</p><p>Gueira nods to himself. "Lio said I'm the only person who's touched him since the day he died," he says, letting out a breath he'd held too long. "Know what else he said? '<em>What if I piss you guys off? What if you leave, and I can't follow you?'" </em></p><p>"Well. What if? He's dead, that's what. Them's the breaks, right?" Meis says, like he doesn't care.</p><p>'Course, he cares a lot. He cares about things like life and death and <em> purpose </em> and <em> loyalty </em>, and sometimes it hurts to think about. He cares about Gueira: the way he laughs so hard he cries, or the way he sleeps with his cold bony hands shoved up in Meis' armpits. He cares about burning cigarette scars into each other's chests like promise rings— and feeling like they've known each other forever.</p><p>Maybe they have.</p><p>Weirder yet, he cares about Lio. He's always felt him watching over his shoulder, even if he couldn't see him. He'd given Meis a crisis of faith, and forced him to believe in the concept of <em> forever </em> in the first place. Meis denounced the church bullshit before he was old enough to do long division, but still, Boss made him wonder. For a while there, he figured maybe, he might've been his guardian angel.</p><p>Stupid, right?</p><p>Maybe it's not.</p><p>Meis pulls his phone out of his pocket and navigates to an open window. He types in <em>findagrave.com</em> and waits for the page to load.</p><p>"I know his last name now," he tells Gueira quietly. "Saw it in the mirror on his work tag. We could find where he's— his resting place, you know? Honor him," he says, offering his phone forward like a precious gift.</p><p>Gueira reads the screen: <em> world's largest gravesite collection </em>. He stares at the empty search field on the home page, where it asks for a name and a location. He pokes at it, hesitates when the keyboard pops up, and then firmly shakes his head.</p><p>"He's not dead to me," he says, passing the phone back. "I wanna treat him like he's still here in the flesh. I wanna be close to him."</p><p>Meis listens with a sympathetic hitch in his chest.</p><p>"Like a friend? Or like somethin' else?"</p><p>"I don't know," Gueira admits, blind to the rising vitals on his heart monitor. "... Is that weird? Does that make me a sicko?" he asks quietly, curling his knees back into himself again.</p><p>Meis has his hands clasped together in a ball against his forehead. He tilts his face to the side, feeling positively jaundiced under the crappy hospital lighting— but then he shoots Gueira a tiny, tired smile.</p><p>"No more of a sicko than I am."</p><p>Gueira huffs out a laugh. "So, yes then," he says, letting his head thunk back against his pillow. "Thanks."</p><p>"Anytime," Meis hums, kissing Gueira's knuckles again. When he pulls back, he hesitates, breath warm and waiting against Gueira's sticky skin. "You know I dig you a lot, right?"</p><p>Gueira doesn't look at him. "I know."</p><p>"And you know I think you're more than that? More than a sicko or some weird kid who rolled in from Tampa?"</p><p>"<em>Miami,</em> man. Tampa was a pit stop."</p><p>Meis snorts. "Nobody lives six months outta their car in a KOA and calls it a <em> pit stop </em>."</p><p>After clearing out another chestful of mucus, Gueira makes a show of rolling his eyes. "Okay, so Tampa was an unplanned detour."</p><p>"Point I'm tryna make is," Meis says, poking at him. "I know you come from a lot of shit. I'm proud of you for packin' up and leaving a bad situation. But if you keep talking yourself down all the time, you're never gonna get to leave that shit behind. Emotionally, right? It stays with you. I mean, just look at Boss."</p><p>Gueira nods. "Yeah, yeah. I know."</p><p>"I'm guilty of it too," Meis says.</p><p>There’s a long moment of silence where the only thing they hear is the radio coming from the nurses' desk in the hallway. It’s 2pm, and the fog outside still hasn’t lifted.</p><p>"I'm glad I found you," Gueira tells him, voice steady. "I'm glad we ended up in the same place at the same time."</p><p>Meis smiles, tracing chewed-off tips of his boyfriend’s nails like they’re perfect, and always have been. "Guess we're lucky," he says. "Sometimes the universe throws us a bone after all."</p><p>Gueira sighs. "Wish it’d done the same for Lio."</p><p>And he doesn’t feel alone in that. If Meis were God himself, he’d feel real shitty about letting good people rot in lonely, lonely places.</p><p>He looks at Gueira, fevered and sweaty on his hospital bed, and he offers the best smile he can fake. "Maybe it still can."</p><p>***</p><p>There’s a crack in the asphalt where the curb’s hammered down— one big fissure, like a tectonic fault, split in two by an iron spike the length of Lio’s forearm. The parking lot’s full of them. Old, crumbling blocks of concrete nailed into the earth, leftover from his days at the co-op. One would assume 7-Eleven’s corporate franchise team would want to spruce up the place; there’s still faded turquoise paint on the sidewalk, for christ’s sake. He painted that. <em>He</em> put that there. Splotches left-over from redoing the entryway, thirty-five fucking years ago.</p><p>Or, yesterday. </p><p>It feels like yesterday. He’d just painted that <em>yesterday.</em></p><p>Maybe tonight, he’ll be back in the co-op, blissful and amnesiac as always. He knows it’s not real— just a copy of a copy of a memory, played on repeat. When he’s there, he’s happy. Things feel <em> safe </em> and <em> normal, </em> until they start to deteriorate around him again. He wishes he could live in those memories forever— the positive ones, at least. Bottle them up like a ship in glass, possess them on a shelf like a curator. Never let them see the light of day, never share them with anyone else ever again.</p><p>He’d been careless. He’d been selfish enough to call Gueira and ask where he’d been— well, <em> bon courage </em> Fotia, the phone service in purgatory apparently <em> sucks </em> . He’d piqued Gueira’s interest just enough to make him concerned. Had he been <em> patient </em>, this never would’ve happened.</p><p>It’s been five days since then, he thinks.</p><p>Outside the store, he lets his boots scuff the ground, loud enough to announce his presence. He takes in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Gueira looks up at him from his spot on the hood of the Camry. He’s got a bandage on the back of his hand and a big thermos of something steamy— which he nearly chucks to the pavement when he spots Lio.</p><p>“Woah! Dude! You’re okay!”</p><p>Lio’s chest tightens. “I am. Are you?”</p><p>“Yeah! I just got discharged!” Gueira says, barreling over the hood and passing off the thermos like a football— (Meis fumbles, but catches it before it spills). Red high-tops hit the ground, and then Lio finds himself squashed into a hug that smells like leather and soup. “Thought I scared you off for good, bud! You still mad at me?”</p><p>“Mad at <em> you?” </em> Lio asks, poking his face through the crook of Gueira’s neck. As dead as he may be, he still needs to <em> breathe. </em> “Gueira, I’m mad at <em> myself. </em> I owe you an apology. Multiple apologies, to be honest. I never meant—”</p><p>“Chill for a sec,” Gueira huffs, squaring his jaw. He pulls back, steadying one hand on either of Lio’s shoulders. “Slow down. You’re gonna get yourself all worked up again.”</p><p>Lio gives a slow blink. “Right. That makes you uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, I didn’t say <em> that, </em>” Gueira rolls his eyes. “Meis. Did I say that?”</p><p>Behind them, Meis sets the soup down on the hood. “Nope.” He stares right through Lio, toward the glass at the front of the store. “What are we talking about?”</p><p>“He’s not allowed to agree with you. He can’t hear me,” Lio squints.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Gueira winks. “He’s got my back— and, surprise surprise, we’ve still got yours too.”</p><p>Lio stares. He feels a heat rising in his core; a reflexive need to <em> bolt </em> finds its way to his legs. Instead, he holds his ground, then <em> gently </em> begins to guide Gueira’s hands away.</p><p>“I’m not sure why you’d want to. The way I spoke to you before— in the place with the fire. When I pushed you. That wasn’t okay. I want to say that wasn’t indicative of who I really am, but it was. If you insist on <em> having my back, </em> you have to realize you’re dealing with more than just the best of me.”</p><p>He rolls the pads of Gueira’s fingertips between his own, selfishly <em> touching him </em> before dropping his hands entirely. He’s supposed to be apologizing. <em> How do people apologize for wanting something so badly, they desecrate it? </em></p><p>“You two are… more than I’m used to. More persistent. You’re brave and you’re genuine and you got closer than expected. It scared me, to be frank, but it was my responsibility to deal with that <em> maturely </em>. I didn’t. So... I’m sorry.”</p><p>Lio listens to the roll of traffic and the breeze through the trees. His eyes are trained on Gueira’s collarbone, because it’s easier to talk to than his face— he can’t stand to see people smile while he lays himself bare— and thankfully, Gueira doesn’t smile for once. “You know, you’re right. You kind of treated me like shit back there. All I was tryin’ to do was help your ass out, and you went nuclear,” he tells Lio, who watches the bob in his throat. “You know who else pulls crap like that?” he asks, lifting Lio’s hand back up in his own. It’s warm, with scarring around the knuckles.</p><p>“No,” Lio admits.</p><p>“Me,” Gueira sighs, squeezing Lio’s fingers. “Y’know why I left home? Came here from Florida? Bumped a line of somethin' or other before Mass one Sunday and decked my stepdad. Right there, in the fuckin’ foyer. Parish admin comes runnin’ over and tries to pull me off, and I flip my shit on the guy. He just wanted to help, and I’m streamin’ tears and throwing fists at anyone who moves.”</p><p>Behind them, Meis sighs wistfully. “Ain’t this boy a dream?”</p><p>Lio can’t help but laugh, and it feels <em> terrible </em>. “That’s different, though.”</p><p>“Literally <em> how the fuck is that any different, </em> Boss?” Gueira grunts, squeezing Lio’s hands again. “You: unresolved ghostly emotions. Me: the worst high of my life. Tomato, tomato.”</p><p>“Stop making me laugh,” Lio says. “Stop making me want to—”</p><p>“Wanna what?” Gueira grins, as Meis comes up behind him and hooks an arm around his waist. “Be pals? Start over again? Meisy, I think we finally cracked him,” Gueira jokes, but Meis isn’t listening.</p><p>He’s frozen, staring down at Lio.</p><p>Not at his reflection, not at the thin air beyond him.</p><p>“Meis?” Gueira asks, quietly elbowing him in the side.</p><p>“Boss,” is all he says.</p><p>For a moment, Lio glances between the two of them, not understanding. He feels Gueira’s fingers lace tighter between his own, and then he sees the <em> look </em> in Meis’ eyes— feels him watching, like a coyote in the brush. <em> Seeing </em> Lio, like he’s <em> there... </em>which, he supposes, he is.</p><p>For once. </p><p>“Meis,” Lio nods breathlessly in return, and holy shit, it sets off dynamite— </p><p>“Mother of <em> christ </em> , I can <em> hear </em> you—” Meis gasps, shocked to hell.</p><p>“Woah, what?” Gueira grunts, confused.</p><p>“I said <em> I heard ‘im! </em> Fuckin’— Keep up!”</p><p>“You <em> what?” </em></p><p>“So help me god, Gueira, I’m not sayin’ it again—”</p><p>Lio shakes his head, eyes wide. He feels himself smiling. He opens his mouth to speak, but Meis backs up, jerking his arm away from Gueira’s waist in excitement.</p><p>Then his eyebrows dip down in confusion.</p><p>“Wait. He’s gone now. Did I scare ‘im? Should I back off?”</p><p>Gueira squints. “Dude, he’s still here. You need glasses or somethin’? Step closer!”</p><p>They start bickering for longer than Lio thinks is necessary. He lets Gueira’s hands slip away from his own, and reluctantly acknowledges how much he misses them already. He’s not ready to let himself have this yet. He’s not ready to dive in head-first— but when has he ever been <em> ready? </em> When has he ever done what’s <em> good </em> for him?</p><p>After all these years, would a simple connection be so <em> bad? </em></p><p>Despite their in-fighting, their jokes and their bad ideas— Meis slips his arm around Gueira’s waist again, like it’s nothing but a <em> simple connection.</em> </p><p>Suddenly, Lio understands.</p><p>“Potato battery,” he damn near whispers, voice low beneath passing traffic.</p><p>Gueira twists around in Meis’ arms, trying and failing to escape from whatever bodily tangle their argument devolved into. His cheeks are flushed with excitement, and his breath puffs out warm against the late October air. “What was that?”</p><p>“<em>Potato battery,</em>” Lio says, with a little more conviction. “Have you ever made one? In science class at school. With a penny and a nail?” He turns on his heel, habitually pacing the sidewalk curb like he used to do on his smoke breaks. “Potatoes can power things. Clocks, phones— at least for a little while. You hook up the right kind of connection, and it produces a charge.”</p><p>Meis blows a retaliatory raspberry on Gueira’s neck (for reasons Lio missed), but Gueira shoos him off again. “You callin’ me a potato?”</p><p>Lio chuckles. “I’m calling <em> myself </em> a potato. You’re the connection. You’re the conduit here, Gueira.”</p><p>Then, tentatively, Lio steps closer to the two of them. He glances up at Gueira, swallows the lump in his throat, and wraps their hands together. He grips it tight, like it’s a lifeline, and then slowly nods at Meis. “Now hold his.”</p><p>Gueira’s eyes widen in anticipation. He brushes the side of his palm against his boyfriend’s, and then eagerly takes it in his own.</p><p>Lio must appear like a magician on a stage, because Meis gives a long, low whistle. He shoots him a glance— head to toe, in a way that’d be lecherous if Lio didn’t know any better.</p><p>(Thing is, he knows Meis. It’d been eight long years that felt like more, and even though they’ve never talked much, he knows him. He knows plenty<em> better </em>.)</p><p>“There he is,” Meis says with all the tenderness in the world, and Lio reaches for his free hand, closing their circle. “I get to see you, hear you, <em>and</em> touch you? What a privilege. What a damn delight, Boss.”</p><p>Ten feet to their left, the front door of the 7-Eleven pops open and the exit bell chimes. A customer steps over to their car, treading all over the turquoise paint still stuck on the ground. It’d been thirty-five years, and Lio finally feels like the mess doesn’t bother him as much as it used to.</p><p>When the three of them hug, he tastes his own tears around his open, giggling mouth.</p><p>***</p><p>"I was... someone people came to when they needed help. We kept the grocery store open 24/7 when we could, just in case anyone needed safe haven for a few hours. Newspapers called me a 'community leader', but I hated that. Communities don't need<em> leaders </em>. Behind the scenes, leaders are rarely good people."</p><p>"Guess you're the exception," Meis shrugs, stuffing an Oreo down deep into a tub of ice cream. He’s got it wedged between his thighs, with his long legs propped up on the dashboard. "At least, in my eyes."</p><p>"What have I ever done to prove that to you?" Lio snorts, poking him in the forehead. He’s seated in the back, between their nearly-horizontal seats.</p><p>Not too long after they’d figured out their <em> potato clock </em>party trick, Gueira moved the car out back by the dumpsters. The garbage man swung by this morning, so he can’t complain about the smell. He’s nabbed last week’s paycheck, Thyma’s signoff on his sick days, and his schedule for the next few shifts. He's got his boys, his health, and a shitload of junk food from inside the store, stuffed into the center console between the seats.</p><p>"Well, for one, you know how to apologize," Gueira shrugs, tilting his head back for a better look. "You’re already miles ahead of every other public official out there."</p><p>Lio reaches over him and grabs another Oreo. "Great. The par is low."</p><p>"And! You make me laugh, which counts for something too," Gueira says. "You're cool and kind and funny as hell, man."</p><p>"Check it," Meis adds, sweeping his hair aside. He busies himself with untucking the tag of his work polo, which spells out <em> Good luck </em> in long-faded sharpie. "Ever since that first day on the job, you've been giving me the sick satisfaction of knowing someone's lookin' out for me. I didn't want to believe it, because I didn't wanna get my hopes up— I'm not big on faith or magic or whatever. You know that. Yet here you are, holding my hand, telling me you feel just as fucked up as I do?" Meis sighs, shaking his head incredulously. "In a twisted sort of way, that makes me happy. Makes me feel less alone. That's why you're good people, Boss— you're the real deal. You give a shit. You make all this <em> worth it. </em>”</p><p>Gueira doesn’t miss the way Lio blushes, right before he pulls his hand away, breaking contact and going ghost. Meis chuckles deep in his chest.</p><p>"Sometimes you just gotta accept you fuck up," Gueira shrugs. "Sometimes you tell a lie, sometimes you accidentally commit arson, whatever."</p><p>"Same diff," Meis agrees. He dips another cookie down into the tub and feeds it to Gueira. “Wanna stop hidin’, Boss?”</p><p>Reluctantly, Lio obliges. He reaches for Gueira again, and his palm is sticky with sweat. "It's <em> really not </em> the same," Lio winces as he reappears. "God, I forgot you guys are sleazebags.”</p><p>Meis only smiles wider and stuffs his mouth with a cookie. He takes a moment to think, philosophically tilting his head up at the rear-view mirror. "Wha’ would it take for you to stahp bein’ suh a damn perfectioniss’ all the time, huh?” He makes a show of regally cleaning off his fingers with his tongue. Gueira wriggles his leg over and kicks him in the knee.</p><p>“I’m not a perfectionist. I’m more of a realist,” Lio says, scooting just a little bit closer. “But I’ve been known to throw caution to the wind, sometimes.”</p><p>“Well. Wind or not. What do we gotta do to help your freak flag fly?" Meis asks, smirking. "Let your hair down, Boss. Anything you want. Start bein' selfish, for once."</p><p>Lio hesitates, only for a moment. Gueira briefly wonders if he’ll retreat again— but then he playfully chomps at the air, demanding another Oreo.</p><p>Meis grins. He sits himself upright, twists sideways toward the two of them, and fingers another cookie down into the ice cream. When he pulls it up to Lio’s lips, he waits, brows raised, hand perfectly poised in offering.</p><p>Gueira swears his heart skips a beat watching Lio take it in his mouth.</p><p>“You guys are hamming this up on purpose,” he says, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Hamming what up?” Lio chews innocently, while Meis makes a face at Gueira. Still, in the moment, Meis doesn’t catch the way Lio looks at him— not until he turns his head, and sees the red on his cheeks and the want in his eyes.</p><p>Meis asks Gueira a silent, pleading question, and almost immediately, he feels himself nod in return.</p><p>Slowly, delicately, he snakes his palm behind the nape of Lio’s neck, careful not to tangle his hair any further. He holds it there, lookin’ at him the same way he looked at Gueira all those months ago— like he actually gives a shit about you, like he refuses to see a single thing wrong with you. Gueira’s always hated bedroom eyes on everyone but Meis.</p><p>“All you, Boss,” Meis encourages softly, squeezing Gueira’s fingers tight with his other hand.</p><p>And god—</p><p>If Gueira’s ever suffered a hunger and thirst— for another person, for anything at all—  it's never come close to the way Lio leans in and kisses Meis. He starts with a stutter to his movements, but doesn’t waste time pressing his body in close. For a thoughtless moment, he lets go of Gueira’s hand, raises his own to the side of Meis’ jaw, then quickly pulls back when he realizes—</p><p>“I can’t see you if you're not holdin' onto him,” Meis hums with a laugh in his throat.</p><p>“... Good,” Lio whispers, knowing full well he can’t hear him either— and it's all he says, before kissing a warm, wet trail down the length of Meis' neck.</p><p>Lio's eyes stay locked on Gueira's, like a promise.</p><p>Like an invitation.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For all the time that Lio has left— in this sorry world, or the next— he wastes precisely none of it unbuttoning Meis' work shirt, fingers fishing for the hem by his belt line. In one hasty move, he spreads his knees wide, pulls himself onto Meis' lap, and drops a line of urgent kisses against his collarbone.</p><p>"Woah, slow down there, Indy 500," Meis chuckles, hand grappling at the thin air in front of him. "I'm all for truckin' n' fuckin', but—"</p><p>"Foreplay, man," Gueira chokes out. His face is burning hot just <em>watching</em> them, and he hopes this isn't the start of a brand new beautiful cuck kink. "Romance us first, will ya?"</p><p>Lio freezes.</p><p>"Sorry," he says, eyes wide. He quickly retracts, scooting back onto his butt. "I thought— sorry—"</p><p>Meis sighs, sensing his absence. He leans back against the dashboard, awkwardly scratches his nose, and pops off the car radio. "You ever done something like this?" he asks Lio, motioning to link their connections again. </p><p>Slowly, they all retwine their hands. When Lio hangs his head, his bangs close around him like stage curtains. Gueira never notices it these days, but his hair's still muddy and sweat-slicked— choppy in odd places where the wheels and the pavement ripped it short. </p><p>He tightens his hold on Lio, who shakes when he laughs.</p><p>"No," the ghost admits, eyes flashing bright. "I mean. Yes, I've had flings, sure. I'm not inexperienced. It's just that I've—" he pauses. "I'm not used to taking it slow."</p><p>Gueira knocks his knee against the stick shift and grunts. "What, you been runnin' marathons in the bedroom, Boss?" he asks, playfully flicking Lio on the chest. "I know you lived through all that <em>free love</em> and <em>sexual revolution</em> stuff way back when, but I think you deserve more than a quickie after fifty damn years."</p><p>Open mouth, insert foot.</p><p>"I lived through video booths and cruising," Lio corrects. "I lived with quickies."</p><p>Gueira's stomach drops.</p><p>"Oh. Yeah. My bad."</p><p>"It's fine. It's what I'm used to," Lio shrugs.</p><p>"No, no, it's not fine. I'm sorry," Gueira offers, squeezing him on the shoulder. "I keep forgettin' you're like, the real O.G. here."</p><p>"Original gay," Meis deadpans.</p><p>Lio cracks a snort, then halfheartedly shoves Gueira sideways. "Sure. Don't forget it again."</p><p>What follows is an anticipation— a bittersweet moment where no one speaks, punctuated only by the sound of a crow in the distance. Gueira holds back a cough (because days later, he's still clearing his lungs of tar-stained snot), so he does this weird wiggle, where his entire body quakes with an effort not to explode.</p><p>"Well," Meis decides to break the silence. "You've been missing out.  Slow sex is nice." He walks his fingers up the length of Lio's arm, his shoulder, his neck— Lio shivers, reluctantly smirking— until his hand gently cups the side of his face. "Now, I'm not so sure you're ready for this. You hardly know us."</p><p>"I know you well," Lio frowns, turning to kiss his palm.</p><p>"You keep disappearing on us," Gueira says, dropping his head onto Lio's opposite shoulder.</p><p>"Promise I won't, unless you want me to," Lio sighs, leaning into the touch.</p><p>"I want you here," Meis hums, against the corner of Lio's open mouth. "I want you right here in front of our eyes, like I been wantin' for years," he tells him, before kissing him so damn soft and sweet that it makes Gueira's heart ache.</p><p>Lio almost lets go again— almost makes a move to run his hands through Meis' hair, or latch his grimy arms around his neck, but he catches himself. He puffs out a breath of air, holding still as he can through another tender kiss, and Gueira doesn't miss the way Lio's jaw starts to shake with nervousness.</p><p>"Boss," Gueira says, nudging him on the slender curve of his neck. "Are you okay?"</p><p>But Lio makes a noise when he breaks away from Meis. "Kiss me," he tells Gueira, eyes fluttering shut. "You too. Please."</p><p>"Tell me you're okay first," Gueira calmly repeats, breaking their connection just to lace his fingers through his hair. He squeezes Meis with his other hand, communicating something wordless and understanding, and Meis squeezes him back.</p><p>"I'm okay," Lio nods, gently enough to be honest— and it's all Gueira needs, before he leans over and kisses Lio as well.</p><p>It's odd. It's soft and warm, with steady puffs of Lio's breath against his lips, but it sends a shockwave of goosebumps down the length of Gueira's arms. Something in his body, instinct maybe, tells him to <em>run</em> from a danger he refuses to see. It's airy and good, frightening and carnal, so he kisses Lio just a little bit deeper— gently bites at his bottom lip, sucks the tip of his tongue against his own.</p><p>"That hurt?" Gueira asks, mumbling against Lio's mouth. "You got a split there— right here," he says, ghosting his thumb over the old, permanent scab on his lip. </p><p>"No," Lio breathes, pressing a kiss into his touch. "Nothing hurts."</p><p>Gueira winces, like it does.</p><p>"Nothing hurts," he parrots for Meis, who hadn't heard it. He slips his hand back into his partner's, hoping to God that Lio isn't lying.</p><p>"But you can feel," Meis wonders. "Right?" He graces a touch down Lio's jugular, running it down and back up again. Beneath him, Lio shudders, but can't seem to hold back a smile.</p><p>"Undoubtedly. <em>Fuck off,</em> that tickles—"</p><p>"See what I have to live with?" Gueira teases, ducking back. "He's a jackass."</p><p>"Birds of a feather," Meis shrugs, before unpredictably licking the part of Gueira's ear that makes him <em>gasp</em>. "Glad to hear it though, Boss. Wouldn't want you to get necked without <em>feeling</em> any of it." Like the devil he is, Meis carefully sucks on the edge of Gueira's earlobe, flicking his tongue over the back of a metal stud. It's a stupid, simple move that never fails to drive him nuts.</p><p>"Man, if you get me all messy in front of Lio, so help me—"</p><p>"Wouldn't it be a damn shame," Meis chuckles, blowing out a cold, careful breath, right where he'd left a stripe of saliva. The hair on the back of Gueira's neck rises to attention. "Wouldn't it be a <em>crime</em> to go all those years, dead as a doornail, and have anything less than the best fuckin' <em>ecstasy</em> you deserve?"</p><p>"Meis," Gueira complains, as he's being peppered with barely-there kisses and tiny, impish love bites all down the length of his jaw. He lets out a squeak— something breathy and unintentional— and he feels his face instantly flood with embarrassment.</p><p>Beside them, Lio stares. </p><p>"Easy, G," Meis teases, brushing a tuft of hair out of Gueira's eyes. "Don't get too eager. Wouldn't wanna embarrass the Boss, right?" He's quiet when he speaks, his voice devoid of any actual authority— Gueira knows he talks big, but every word is full of caution. Every tease— every command— is full of options and outs, because Meis doesn't have a commanding bone in his body. Not really.</p><p>Lio, on the other hand—</p><p>"Enough," he says, pupils blown wide. "I want in."</p><p>"Impatient, Boss?" Gueira asks, brows quirked, and it's all he can say before Lio tugs him into a deep, burning kiss again.</p><p>"Terribly," he huffs, letting Gueira slide his tongue past his lips. "<em>Fucking,</em>" he grunts, when Meis inches a hand up the front of his dirty, road-torn shirt. "<em>Impatient,</em>" he says, sighing against the heat in his mouth and the warmth on his chest.</p><p>With a blind struggle, Gueira reaches behind them and elbows the radio back on. It blasts out a shitty Foreigner song, and Lio screws his eyes shut. "God," he grunts, breath hitching when Meis gently brushes a thumb over his nipple— first tracing around the peak of it, then carefully rolling it between his fingers. "No— not that."</p><p>"No touching there?" Meis asks, dropping his hand.</p><p>"No, I mean <em>not Foreigner,</em>" Lio gasps bitterly, right when Gueira nibbles down on his neck. "Hold on— I got it—"</p><p>Seemingly on its own, the radio spurts out a screech of static, cycling through stations at an impossible speed. Lio desperately replaces Meis' hand— urging him to knead at his chest again, as though he doesn't even need to concentrate on changing the station at all.</p><p>Maybe he doesn't.</p><p>The radio settles on something modern, a timeless reminder of nothing— no 70s teen mixtapes, no love anthems or co-op records. Certainly nothing that would've played on the radio during his final moments. Satisfied, Lio takes a moment to peel off his jacket (rotten and beloved) and shirt (oil-stained and unnecessary). He grips at Meis and Gueira—his friends of a few months, or a few decades, depending on things like <em>time</em> and <em>space</em> and <em>perspective</em>— and he decides it doesn't matter, in the end. He trusts them all the same.</p><p>Somehow, he can't stop kissing them. It makes him hot and anxious and hungry, more than usual, more than his worst. He loves the light touch on his chest— the steady gentle strokes dipping down his ribcage, which has been broken and bruised for nearly half a century. He leans into the teeth on his throat, grazing down his tendons so lightly it <em>aggravates</em> him. There's a lot of spilled blood there, but Gueira doesn't always see it. Instead, the fucker's stiff, box-dyed hair keeps innocently brushing up against his neck, sending little needy jolts right down to his cock, and—</p><p>"Gueira," Lio huffs. "Please."</p><p>"Please what?"</p><p>"Kick it up a notch," Lio says, and it sounds like a command. Gueira considers following it, but instead, he trails his mouth along the ridge of his collarbone, licking wet little dots against his skin.</p><p>"Payback," he grins, looking up. "For all the grief you gave me those first coupla' months. You drove me nuts, now I'll drive you nuts—"</p><p>"Meis?" Lio sighs, begging for backup.</p><p>"On it," he grins, slinging an arm around Lio's waist and scooting him back. The reclining passenger seat beneath them creaks with the movement— he tucks Lio into his lap, back-to-chest, legs comfortably spread out in front of them. "Don't let him torture you, fucker goes all night without letting you cum," he says, fondly shooting his boyfriend a dirty look.</p><p>"You said you wanted to go slow! I'm going slow!" Gueira protests.</p><p>"There's sexy, then there's molasses," Meis shrugs, burying his nose against Lio's skin. "Boss, whatcha need?"</p><p>Lio tilts his head back. "Touch," he decides, nuzzling his cheek against his chest. "Taste," he continues, lifting Meis and Gueira's conjoined hands up to his lips, guiding both of their first two fingers into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around them, sucking them deep enough to drop his jaw, before <em>slowly</em> dragging them back out between the seal of his lips.</p><p>"Fuck," Gueira stares, watching the trail of spit break away from his fingertips.</p><p>"Don't threaten me with a good time, Boss," Meis grins, voice dark. </p><p>Lio simply dips his head forward again, swallowing back their warmth. He lets them splay their fingers out, licking between the skin of their knuckles and the rough callouses of their fingertips. He sucks back, pauses, and pushes them in again, directing them by the wrists— showing them how to fuck his mouth, how to time it in a way he likes. Meis, humming low in his chest, reaches around him and draws circles against his hipbone. He dips his nails in tight when Lio deepthroats, taking in as much as he can—</p><p>"<em>Fuck,</em>" Gueira repeats, laughing under his breath. "You're such a show-off, man."</p><p>Lio drags their fingers out with a wet, overstated <em>pop</em>. "I'm aware."</p><p>"Shoulda seen it coming," Meis snorts, nipping at his nape. Slowly, he dips his free hand down toward his belt buckle, and Lio lets him work the clasp open. "You know he blew up the cappuccino machine once?"</p><p>"That," Lio sighs, losing himself when Meis slides a hand into his underwear, "Was an accident."</p><p>"Bullshit," Meis mutters, starting to stroke him. "District manager was scheduled to come in and reset the floor. You never liked the guy."</p><p>"Sure didn't," Lio says breathlessly, eyes half-lidded as he stares directly into Gueira's. He lowers his grip on their wrists, threading all three of their hands together against the stick shift.</p><p>"You wanted to scare 'im? The DM?" Meis asks, voice dropping lower. He kisses a slow, teasing trail down the side of Lio's neck— his thumb teases at the slit of his cock, spreading the bead of pre that'd gathered there. "You knew he was comin'. You knew I hated his guts."</p><p>"It was an accident," Lio repeats, but the music in his laugh betrays him. He shoves the hem of his underwear down his thighs, freeing himself. "Shit, that feels nice—"</p><p>"Thought so," Meis says, and Lio <em>whines</em> when he removes his hand completely— leaving his cock laying nearly-hard and pretty against the leather of his motorcycle pants.</p><p>"Meis," he says, trying to regain his composure. He lets his head thud back against the man's chest, taking deep, measured breaths in time together. "You're at a disadvantage to leave me hanging. I will haunt you until the day you die—"</p><p>"Chill," he says, jutting his chin up at Gueira. He connects a line with his eyes, from his boyfriend's mouth to Lio's crotch. "You game?"</p><p>"Hell yeah, I'm game," he says, leaning over in his seat. He pauses, breath hot over the soft fuzz of Lio's naked pantsline. "You game for this too, Boss? I sure as hell ain't as flashy as you, but I like to think I'm just as talented—"</p><p>"There's no doubt in my mind you are," Lio says, eyes shut tight in frustration. "And I'm always game for anything with you. Sex, movie night, anything. Really. But please," he begs, cupping his free hand around Gueira's jaw.</p><p>"Right, right," Gueira chuckles, before taking him deep into his mouth.</p><p>If there's one thing Gueira's learned in the past year, it's to expect the unexpected. He knows Lio can't always control his reactions, so he can't blame the guy for blowin' up cappuccino machines or setting hellscapes on fire— so when the radio goes haywire? Scans through every frequency on the dial at full volume? That's normal. That means he's doin' his job well. He sucks cock like a seasoned pro, so says Meis— and if that means Lio can't keep himself together? Can't stop the speakers from blowin' out or the car alarm from goin' off? </p><p>That's a win, right there.</p><p>What he <em>doesn't</em> expect happens after that— when Meis tells Lio to sit up a bit, lean his thighs right up against him so he can fuck between 'em— that's when Lio starts to <em>really</em> fall apart. Meis has his arm slung around Lio's thin, road-mauled waist, tellin' him and Gueira both about how good they are and how <em>perfect</em> they are and how much he <em>gives a shit about them</em> and how he <em>can't guarantee he always will, but fuck, he's gonna try,</em> and Gueira's down there agreeing with him, humming around him, opening his throat around him, wondering how in the hell he ended up with a couple of guys just as blissfully fucked up as he is—</p><p>The transformer on the corner of the lot blows, cutting the power to the store— and every business, home, and streetlamp along the highway for one-and-a-half miles.</p><p>Lio sits, breath shuddery, hand clamped up in Gueira's hair. He feels tiny aftershocks roll through his body, pushing out trickles of cum against the curve of Gueira's lips. Meis keeps muttering something into his neck, pressing kisses against rotting skin and hopelessly broken bones, and Lio's horrified to realize he's—</p><p>Happy.</p><p>He's okay, and he's happy.</p><p>"Transformer's on fire," Meis breathes out, after he wipes his own mess against the seat of the car. "Lio, you <em>beast</em>."</p><p>"Shit, that's cool," Gueira laughs, wiggling his jaw back and forth to regain feeling in the muscle. "Lights all out down the street, too— man, you <em>downed </em><em>the power grid? </em>Meis, I think we should take that as a fuckin' compliment, yeah?"</p><p>Lio leans his head toward the driver's side window, squinting to get a better look at the blaze in the distance.</p><p>"Well. Glad we got ice cream before we did all that," Meis says, whistling long and low. "Bet you twenty bucks our backup generator don't work. Think we can get Thyma to donate a couple more tubs before they melt in the freezer?"</p><p>"I'm sorry," Lio says, hiding his face behind his hands. He pauses, snorts, and can't stop himself from giggling. "... I'm not actually sorry."</p><p>And in that moment, with the three of them laughing against the steady scream of the car alarm, Gueira swears there's not a single scratch on Lio. There's no blood, no lesions, no street grass embedded in his hair or his skin. He looks healthy, hopeful, and alive again.</p><p>But maybe, that's just Gueira. Maybe he's tripping. Maybe there's a gas leak. After all, there's never been any reassurance he wasn't losing his fucking marbles.</p><p>***</p><p>It's four months later, in the early coming of Spring, when Lio mentions leaving.</p><p>Like most things in his life, it starts out as a joke. </p><p>He knows he can't make it past the property boundary— at most, he can cross the street. Stare down at the spot where a truck hit his bike, sent him skidding across thirty yards of wet asphalt and oil. He knows he still reeks of spilt gasoline, and sometime— maybe twenty years into his death sentence— he stopped caring.</p><p>Like most things in his life, he makes it work for him.</p><p>This time, though, they're out on the strip of gravel near the guardrail. Gueira's set up a load of two-liter soda bottles, and Meis has procured a bowling ball, and the three of them take turns knocking off-brand root beer and Squirt down the ravine. Thing is, Lio bowls a pretty good game, and always has. He nails a 7-10 split and swears he doesn't cheat (but he could, if he wanted to, and that's all that matters). It sends a "pin" out into the busy road beside them, and the ball starts rolling away before they can catch it.</p><p>He doesn't even think about it when it happens. He jogs down the road, chases it until it comes to a stop, and brings it back to Gueira and Meis. They stare at him, but they don't say anything, because Lio hadn't said anything either.</p><p>It takes Lio a whole week to realize it: he'd stepped out of bounds. He didn't fade out, didn't end up back at the store, and didn't get whisked away to his personal hell.</p><p>He tries again the next day. He tries every day, gets a little bit further, and keeps the progress to himself.</p><p>It's March 1st when he finally tells them "I think I'll be able to leave soon," and it hurts less than he thought it would hurt.</p><p>"Do you want to?" Meis asks him, sharing his dinner with him. Passing a plastic fork to him, covered in microwave meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Lio accepts it and tells him "maybe".</p><p>"It's your choice to make, but we'll always follow your lead, Boss," Gueira tells him, sharing his jacket with him. Passing a cigarette to him, mentholated and filled with additives that'll surely kill a growing boy like Lio one day. Lio accepts it, and tells him "I know".</p><p>He's not sure if they know what he means. He's not going to walk out on them, if he can help it— there's nowhere else he'd rather be, if not with them.</p><p>He wonders if he'll be able to say no, when the time comes. Can he turn down the grand plan of the universe? RSVP to God— or whichever sadist runs this place— and say he won't be attending <em>whatever</em> it is that comes next? Maybe it'll feel like Meis, talking about a store transfer after he got accepted to an Ivy League last week (he's nearly thirty, but there's no time limit on these things, Gueira says). Maybe it'll feel like Gueira, encouraging him to take the scholarship (that he'd only applied to for shits n' gigs, Meis counters). Both of them want to say no, they've told Lio, but neither of them knows how to admit it.</p><p><em>It'd feel wrong,</em> Gueira'd said, <em>to hold either of you back from freedom.</em></p><p><em>You're not,</em> Lio'd kissed him, soft and thankful and stupid. <em>You can't. You could never.</em></p><p><em>We'll take it day by day,</em> Meis had said, his pinky fingers wrapped around both of his boys'. <em>We can make these decisions together.</em></p><p>And he's right. Like most things in Lio's life, cherished or hated alike, he takes them as they come. He has to.</p><p>But in the meantime:</p><p>They sit, lawn chairs in a semicircle, cans of White Claw in-hand. The sunset reflects off the surface of Gueira's sunglasses, bathing Lio and Meis in a brilliant filter of orange and red. Fresh, spring fieldgrass waves in the wind beside them, exposing a guardrail post covered in carvings and crosses. It's the same as it's ever been, with a few sneaky additions that Lio found just yesterday:</p><p><em>'61-'85</em>, his lifespan, has been crossed out, written over with <em>punk never dies</em>. He can't complain, because it's true. </p><p>But below that, carved by two separate, distinct hands— the ones he loves so much, the ones that love him back— are the words</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>L+ G + M</em>
</p><p>
  <em>  MAD</em>
</p><p>
  <em>  AS</em>
</p><p>
  <em>   HELL</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>well! that was fun. happy halloween! thank you for all your wonderful comments (and fic art???) wow!</p><p>i guess i'll talk about what an ending like this means to me: im a sucker for ambiguity (obviously), but i also appreciate the concept of "almost": almost succeeding, almost being content, living with the reality of things being uncertain and imperfect and ugly and traumatizing, but carrying on despite that. i doubt these boys would ever truly part for long, but i wanted to threaten them with individual personal growth (lmao god forbid). as for lio, can ghosts choose to stay once they've sorted out their shit? who knows? maybe i should ask the one in my kitchen who likes to throw things!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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